


Fast Car

by outlawserenade



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, No-Cape, Songfic, no mask, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-01-19 05:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 27,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12403821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outlawserenade/pseuds/outlawserenade
Summary: Tim Drake is a genius, but will never get a chance if he doesn't get out of Bristol and out of his mother's grasp.Jason Todd is a simple former street kid and in love with Tim. He would do anything to support Tim's dream, including shelling off his pay from the three jobs he held to loan Tim the money to buy a car.They will get out of here, and face the song and dance.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Eep. My first finished fic of the capeless batboys. Kudos and comments are truly appreciated. And this is un-beta-ed, so if anybody finds any inconsistency, please let me know! :)

**Prologue**

Jason knew that he was losing the battle real quick. To be called 'dense' and 'simple' had hurt him more than if he was to be referred to as a loser - like the kids would. But the teachers calling him 'learning disabled' and 'dense' and using his inability to solve a problem as an example of how not to  _exist_ hurt him to the point where he wanted to either cry or throw tables at them.

If not for a tinny, haughty voice calling out from the back of the class. "I don't believe you, Ms. Carter."

Ms. Carter and Mr Walker both turned toward the source of the voice. "And what exactly do you not believe, Mr Drake?" Ms Carter said.

"First of all, this is the 21st century. There have been numerous studies that showed that 'learning disability' is subjective - as in specific to subject matters. Even children who are actually dyslexic are more likely to be found as  _not_  dense or simple like you said. What is there is the brain's inability to process unfamiliar input.

"You put the problem wrongly, in a blatant attempt to confuse Todd. I sincerely doubt that 90% of this class would be able to solve that, either." the voice, coming from a black-haired, blue-eyed kid that Jason had heard his friends called 'Tim', continued unabashedly.

"Oh, yes, Mr Drake, I know you're a genius and did not think your time here is worth your while. How about you come up here and explain where did I do wrong?" Ms Carter was relentless. She was not used to be challenged. And Jason presumed that this Tim kid might have decided to make it a sport to challenge Ms Carter on daily basis.

But then again, this was only his second time in this class. AP Math. What a joke. He probably didn't have the brain to pass Remedial Math if he'd tried his damnedest, anyway. He hated numbers. They simply don't make sense to him.

Tim sighed. "Fine, if I have to do your job for you..." he said and got up. He picked up a blue marker and started to make dots and letters on the white board. "How well do you read?" he suddenly asked Jason.

"What?" Jason shot back, startled.

"How well do you read?" he repeated.

"I can read just fine." Jason huffed.

"Truthfully. I'm not gonna laugh if you need to spell out words or if letters are backwards to you." he looked so sincere. But Jason didn't have any problem with reading.

"I can read just fine." he repeated.

"Alright, now solve this."

Jason blinked and turned to look at the board. Instead of the convoluted arithmetic formula containing four numbers each that Ms Carter had written, there were dots, dashes, and stars in place of the numbers. And Jason suddenly got it. He picked the red marker and worked on the arithmetic problem, counting the dots and dashes as he went, hesitating only at the last line. The final line. But Tim's smug and proud smile that he'd seen from the corner of his eyes made him decide to bite the bullet, and just wrote the number instead of the dots and dashes and stars.

Jason wanted to screw his eyes shut as he stepped back from the board. "There, he got it. Some people has dyslexia - which is problems with  _letters_ , others have Dyscalculia - problems with  _numbers_. It might be worthwhile for the likes of you to subscribe to medical journals and keep an open mind." Tim said. Then he turned to Jason. "Next time you see a problem like this, I'd suggest you do it exactly like this: put simple symbols or letters in the place of the numbers. Your solution is right, by the way."

Jason beamed at Ms Carter and Mr Walker. "I'm not dense, evidently."

"No, you're not. You're just a more visually inclined learner." Tim said, ignoring the adults. "Don't  _ever_  let anyone, kids or adults, imply that your brain is not working. It's simply a statistical impossibility. If you can use a pen to write your name, there is no way you cannot accept and process other information."

Big words. But Jason understood the gist of it. He's not stupid, and he shouldn't let others think he was.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim might be small and young, but when he decided on something, it would be pretty hard to shake him off. Not that Jason wanted to, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is still just basically the backstory of everything, really. Not much action, yet. But this is actually a complete story, so it'll never fall prey to the hall of Forever-Unfinished stories. 
> 
> As always, kudos & comments are fully and truly appreciated!

Jason Todd's life was never easy. He was born a sickly baby, riddled with the pains of drugs withdrawal like his mother had. His dad, a no-good, two-time loser of a lowly drug dealer, had existed for approximately six years in Jason's life, before getting caught in the crossfire between drug cartels. His mother, successfully kicked addiction for approximately six years before she was diagnosed with breast cancer, proceeded to return to drugs with a vengeance. She died shortly before Jason's tenth birthday.

Jason had lived on the streets of the city for almost three years before his mother's parents - his grandparents - finally found him. They took him out of the city right there and then, determined to make right what they couldn't do to their daughter - all of her features that were embedded rightly on Jason's face - black hair like his grandpa's, steel-blue eyes of his grandma's - served only to heighten their guilty conscience.

Jason, however, was just glad that he has got a roof over his head again, complete with walls surrounding said roof.

On his first day back to school - high school freshman by age, barely third grade of elementary school by academics, Jason was scared. Plus, Bristol City was a city filled with middle- to upper-class people. They looked at him - a street urchin - with enough disdain to light up the Christmas Tree at New York's Times Square. The teachers were not helping matters, any. They did not believe his grandpa's insistence that he could catch up, and should probably -  _preferably_  - get punted back to elementary school

And then Tim Drake stood up for him.

"I don't believe you're stupid." was his first words when he stood in front of Jason's table at the cafeteria. "I believe in you, Jason. Whatever it takes, if you face it head on, I'm sure it can be done." And then he added, "Do you mind if I sit here?"

Jason looked around. There were plenty of other tables, alright, mostly filled with kids Tim would have known for longer. But the kid asked to sit with him, and nobody else did. The rest of the kids had been steering clear of him like he was carrying the bubonic plague.

"Not at all." Jason smiled shyly. He towered over Tim by a head easily. "Do people here do that all the time, or just to street urchins?" he asked idly as somebody veered off away from him in spite of heading to another table that would've been closer through a straight line.

"I don't know," Tim replied, grinning impishly. "I've never met an urchin before. Shouldn't you have prickly thorns and round yourself when you're scared or angry if you're an urchin?"

Jason blinked. "I'm not a hedgehog!" he protested. Yes, he knew that the literal meaning of 'urchin' is a hedgehog.

"Yeah, I don't think so either. Hedgehogs are supposed to be small, aren't they? You're taller than I. So you can't be a hedgehog."

Now Jason smiled. "Thanks," he said.

"What for?" Tim asked.

"For standing up for me in math. But, okay, I'm not an idiot, right? But AP Math is probably not for me."

"Pffft... it's not for me, either. If my dad didn't die, I'd probably be on my way to MIT by now. Or Ivy." Tim scoffed. "But I get it. You'll need a little more help to catch up. Ms Carter said that you weren't schooled for quite some time. Would you object if I tutor you? I won't charge you anything, since I, too, need to re-touch-base with the other studies. Like, my last classes was definitely higher than the ones I've had here, but they wouldn't be running tests based on what I've learned, would they?"

Jason cringed. "Whaaa... okay, let's get back from the start. What do you mean you've had higher classes?"

"I was homeschooled until a few years ago. Then crap happened, my parents lost their money and whatnot, and dad shot his head. Mom and I are only starting to get our lives back together now, here. So I'm back in a common school that wouldn't let me sit in senior year in spite of my academic credits - just because I'm only eleven."

"Ah, that explained you being so short," Jason muttered.

Tim cocked an indignant eyebrow at him. "I'm not short. I just need a little time to get a growth spurt."

"Sure, shorty..." Jason teased. "But yeah, I don't think I can object. Who wouldn't want to be tutored by you, anyway?"

And Tim, for all his genius, turned out to be quite a friendly guy. Over the years, Jason would often find himself watching with a little bit of jealousy as Tim laughed with a group of his friends, or animatedly explaining something to a different group of people.

Just a little, though. Because apparently Tim had decided from day one that he would be Jason's BFF. Come hell or high water. And Jason was glad. No matter how busy his 'clique' was around him, Tim would always make his way to Jason and took him by the hand. Tim might be small and young, but when he decided on something, it would be pretty hard to shake him off. Not that Jason wanted to, anyway. Not especially of his friendship.

By the next semester, everyone would have noted that Tim and Jason were virtually inseparable. When Jason asked Tim to their first Homecoming, not a single person protested.

Well, maybe Jason's grandpa when he squeaked at Tim kissing Jason on the mouth as they dropped him back home. His grandma, however, beamed proudly. Grandpa didn't protest much, either, if only by saying, "boy could've done worse."

Their first 'official' date didn't take place until a year later, really.  _Waaay_  after Homecoming. Not that Jason didn't want to. He simply didn't have enough money to be justified to be used to spend on a $7 milkshake or $15 combo meal. Instead, grandma made him the milkshakes in a thermos, and then taught him to make the burgers and fries, and lasagna. Tim finished about half of the lasagna, and brought home the rest.

They'd never made it to the movie, and instead spent hours stargazing on the hills of the houses of the rich, and walked back to Tim's home way past his curfew. That was the first time that Jason realized that Tim's mother didn't even notice Tim's absence through the night.

And the first time Jason saw the  _hurt_  in Tim's eyes when, by the next day, Jason's grandma chided  _them_  for getting home too late. Back then, he thought that Tim did not like getting chided. But hey, he was 14. What did  _he_ know?


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sleep under it." Tim deadpanned, and giggled as Jason tickled his sides. "No, but seriously..." Tim suddenly spaced out, absently swatting Jason's hands away.
> 
> Knowing Tim, Jason promptly said, "no."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh. Yeah. I'm bad at keeping a schedule. It's just... *twiddles thumbs* I have another fic that's done that I want to publish. But I still have 14 more chapters to publish of this one. Sooo... enjoy? :D

Jason was 16 when more tragedy struck. His grandma fell ill and died - all in less than a week. Heart attack, they'd said. Evidently, she had been having a number of minor heart attacks for the past year, and it was only her indomitable will that had kept her alive. He'd supposed it was not his fault, and grandpa had never really blamed him, anyway. Grandpa had rallied hard, in spite of the loss of his beloved wife of 35+ years, and his obvious love for his grandson. But he was more sickly than grandma was even before she'd fallen ill. And Jason quickly found himself being the caregiver instead of the care-getter.

He didn't mind, thought. At least caring for Grandpa was different than caring for his oft-inebriated mom back then.

By age 17, Jason was broad and tall, the only thing his father gave him through genetic. He had gotten a job - first at the butchery, and when the butchery was absorbed by a supermarket, he'd gotten the job at the supermarket.

Grandpa managed to live long enough to see Jason graduate from high school. The pride in his face in Jason's graduation photo hid all the pains and ails he'd had pretty well. His words of "I'm proud of you, son," was captured in the graduation video somebody had made.

Tim had helped him to make a clip of it and put it in Jason's cellphone, and this thing called 'cloud' - whatever it is. Tim assured him that he would never lose it.  _Ever_. And if he somehow  _does_  lose it, Tim has several copies stashed "here and there."

Whatever that means. Grandpa's death, while it made him sad, was already written in the books and read out loud, anyway.

At the very least, Jason would still have a roof over his head. His apartment may be small - a two-bedroom apartment, living room, and a kitchenette - but it was safe.

But then again, everything was virtually safe here in Bristol Town. Even the people. In spite of the children's animosity in the beginning, they eventually thawed when their parents realized that Jason was not a 'charity case', but rather a redemption case of his grandparents' for the daughter they'd lost.

When Jason had started getting jobs back when he was 14 - starting with paper route, and then lawn mowing, followed by the butcher shop - for his own stipend, the adults of the city were delighted. The children - not so much, mostly because Jason had "set up a good example for the kids here," and made their respective parents expect them to do labors, too.

He had done jobs to fill up a little savings in a safety-deposit-box-shaped piggy bank under his bed. With his grandfather's death, Jason suddenly had to work to make the rent money. The money from the three jobs he had at the supermarket, garage, and local diner was barely enough to cover the rent - let alone the meals and other expenses that he would have to face. The first time Jason had to delve into his savings, he was heartbroken.

"I've got like, some 2,000 dollars." he reported morosely. "After the next two months' rent, I'll have about $ 300. Just enough for food and bus fares until next month's pay."

Bristol Town, for all of its pretty sights, only has a handful of public transports. Most of the time, Jason would have to wait at least an hour for the bus that would take him home from the diner - the job that sent him home at the latest hours. If he'd missed the bus, he'd have to walk home for at least an hour.

"I've told you you should've bought a car." Tim said, settling himself comfortably between Jason's legs with his back pressed on Jason's chest.

"And then I don't eat for the rest of the month? Live in the car?" Jason scoffed.

"No, doofus. You should've got a car, live with me for a while, and then find a job elsewhere." Tim scoffed back.

"Yeeeah, the second part of that would be more problematic than anything else." Jason scowled. "Your mom would probably have me castrated if she ever finds me in your bed."

"Sleep under it." Tim deadpanned, and giggled as Jason tickled his sides. "No, but seriously..." Tim suddenly spaced out, absently swatting Jason's hands away.

Knowing Tim, Jason promptly said, "no."

Tim blinked out of his stupor. "No, what?"

"Whatever it is you're thinking, just. No."

Tim turned toward him and blinked owlishly - clearly still mulling the thought he'd had in his mind. "It's perfect." he finally decided, still blinking like a car's hazard lights.

"Nooo, it's not."

"No, just listen out here. You've got a license, right? You can fix cars." Tim pointed out. Yes, Jason can. He had been fixing cars for a good long while now, starting with his grandpa's decrepit old truck that they had sold for $1,200 just before grandpa died and they'd needed the money for his meds.

"There is a point somewhere here..." Jason winced pointedly.

"Yes there is.  _I_  can buy a car." Tim said.

"No you can't. You're sixteen." Jason reminded.

"I'm gonna be 17 in the next month." Tim pointed out. " _Plus_ , technically, it'll partially be yours. I'll need your insurance details and ID to buy the car." he said. " _And_  teach me to drive."

"While I'm not objecting at teaching you to  _drive_ , largely out of pity for the good citizens of BrisTown, how  _exactly_  are you going to get the money to buy a car?" Jason gritted.

"I have money." Tim said.

"Whatever it is you're thinking,  _no_." Jason insisted, his mind racing at whatever it is that might be in Tim's mind.

"I haven't even worked out all of the details to present to you, and you already turned it down." Tim huffed. "No, you can't say no  _now_ , because I haven't got the details and/or  _you_  haven't got any arguments to present to me. Give me a few days, and I'll hand it to you; and  _then_  you can argue all you want." he said, almost haughtily.

Jason touched Tim's cheek gingerly with his fingers, before resting his palm fully on it. Tim pressed one hand over Jason's hand, and kissed his palm, resting the other hand on Jason's bare chest.

"Whatever it is, baby bird, I won't let you get hurt." he said solemnly, twining his fingers with Tim's. His other hand rubbed Tim's upper arm, his fingers brushing the inner arm, feeling the ridges of scars there.

Scars that even Janet Drake never knew of.

Sometimes, he couldn't understand Janet Drake's near sociopathic tendencies to hinder Tim's life the best she could. Yeah, sure, Tim is sixteen, turning 17 in July. But Tim has been more than a 'kinda okay' kid like Jason. Tim had finished his high school without any incident - the teachers tended to give him a wide berth once he'd made his genius known. He was appalled when he'd discovered that the highest GPA would get him to be a valedictorian, and it took Jason convincing him that he could encourage people - like he'd encourage Jason - with the speech to get him to actually  _make_  a speech. It was largely unscripted and may or may not last a lot quicker than standard valedictorian speeches, but hey, it had worked.

He knew all too well, that in spite of the Town's leniency with their relationship, there would be no way Janet Drake would allow Jason to stay in  _her_  house. Her bitterness against him went tenfold since Jason actually managed to get Tim to start  _charging_  people for tutoring. Some ladies at the supermarket gossiped that she thought that her son was forced to do 'labors', by tutoring their classmates, and then their juniors, through their senior year. Tim had bought himself a sweet new laptop from the earnings, and she'd said that Jason was teaching Tim  _pornography_.

Eh, yeah, he didn't know where that one came from, either, given that Tim was practically a wizard with anything electronics, and Jason was... not so much. Unless they're attached to a carburetor and radiator and give out readings that doesn't involve zeroes and ones and/or this thing Tim called 'C++'. In Jason's mind, C++ means nothing but a pre-B. And 'Perl' is something that came out of clams from the ocean. Tim said they were computer programming language, and chided Jason's refusal to even  _try_  to learn them.

Jason sighed as his mind drifted back to the numbers - money - that he would need to retain the apartment. Thus far, he has no luck in finding an apartment that is cheaper than the one he has. At this rate, Jason knew that he would end up homeless within the next three months. Or four, if he could beg Mrs Lamont, the landlady, to let him stay.

"Penny for your thought?" Tim finally asked, after a long silence.

"I wonder if the grass is actually greener on the other side of the fence." Jason answered.

Tim closed his laptop and turned around to straddle him. "What's your metaphor refer to, exactly?" he quizzed.

"Me. I need another job, or a job that pays at least twice to keep this place. To do that, I gotta look for jobs out of this town. Which means I need a car. But if I don't get out of this town, I'll end up homeless in four months. Sooo..." he sighed. "

"Well, gimme a couple of days. I still have some cash you can borrow if you need food or anything emergency. But, yeah. Gimme a few days." Tim decided. "We'll figure this out, Jay. Don't worry. If we put our minds to it, it'll work. Trust me."


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Tim would need to do is bide for time, wait until he actually turned semi-legal.
> 
> Jason couldn't be sure if he should be glad or scared as all hell.

Tim borrowed the $300 of Jason's remaining cash to buy a car.

Technically,  _Jason_  had bought the car, since Tim was not allowed to get one without parental consent. But the $1,500 car was acquired with mostly Tim's money, and therefore, it would be  _Tim's_  car.

Janet Drake was livid. She went to town and declared that Jason had robbed his son to buy a car. And when Jason showed up to take Tim for his promised driving lesson, she was even more furious that she'd threatened that Tim should never return if he goes on with the driving lesson.

Tim had stood his ground, hand clutching Jason's painfully, and said, "that's fine. I'm leaving, anyway."

Jason had talked him out of packing out right there and then - while Sheriff Jones calmed Janet down.

For all his genius, Jason knew that Tim was unhappy. Heck, the  _entire city_ knew that Tim was unhappy. He was diagnosed by the school counselor as Manic Depressive even before he'd started high school. According to Tim, his depression was the sole argument that the counselor had given to prevent Tim from starting at sophomore year, at least, instead of freshman.

Jason had worked hard through the years to keep Tim's depression at bay, the best that he knew how: keep him busy, make sure he would eat, make sure someone would be there with him at all times, keep him talking. If the whole list of things were filled, he could always be sure that Tim would go straight to sleep by the time Jason called to say goodnight.

And wake up in the morning sans a new scar.

After graduation, and after Grandpa died, Jason had began noticing new scars on Tim, and fully blamed himself for not being there for Tim. His work had taken him into the late hours, early mornings. He could not take calls from Tim at random - Tim would have to wait for Jason to make calls. Most of Tim's friends have scattered all over the country into their respective colleges.

After they acquired the car, Jason did not know what Tim was doing through the next few months. He was too busy trying to find enough money to cover his rent - something that was getting much too familiar for him. The only leverage he'd gotten was that with Winter, there were numerous cars that demanded service, and the townsfolks didn't mind paying extra for him.

Blessedly, Tim did not hesitate to pick him up or loan him the car at any time. It was mostly parked in Jason's apartment, anyway, because Tim had feared that Janet would try to sabotage it (she had, actually, by removing a fuse. And Tim had to wait a few days until Jason could come by and bring the replacement fuse).

Jason would notice the telltale marks of a new cut seeping through his coat, sometimes, and he'd make a point of holding Tim extra tight, or calling him more diligently in the next few days, just for him to hold on.

That is, until the Spring had started, where Tim handed him a presentation on his laptop.

Tim's presentation - literal presentation in an actual slideshow - actually made sense. They would move - with the amount of cash they both have, it should be enough to get a place for them; Jason would get a job, Tim would get himself enrolled at the Gotham City Community College. The study would take two years, whence Tim would try to find internship jobs that would guarantee him a full-time job by graduation. And then Jason can get whatever kind of education he wants at the Community College, because he would not need to work full time with Tim covering the rent and whatnot.

If not for Jason's trepidation of the repercussions, he'd probably jump at it right away.

"No," he said flat out.

Tim rolled his eyes. "Why?"

"Because!" Jason insisted, his brain racing to find excuses that's not his fear of Janet Drake's wrath. "You're sixteen!"

"By  _this_  time, doofus, I'll be  _seven_ -teen. Technically almost legal and I could sign in for the military without parental consent - if I want to. I would also be tried as an  _adult_  if I'd committed felony! So yes. I'll be an adult by then."

Jason gave him an unimpressed glare. "And you want to do the utmost teenage cliché  _ever_ : run away from home."

"Technically, I'm not running away from  _home_. I'll just be going back to my roots." Tim answered. "I'm a Gothamite by birth, Jason. So are you. We're not suited for this stupid country life. Furthermore, even a  _Community College_  at Gotham would be better than--" Tim made a disgusted face, "--the Thurman College of Applied Sciences. Seriously? Their idea of 'applied science' is how to change one's tires or man the gas station! That's not  _Science_! That's vocational studies!"

Jason cringed inwardly. He had not chosen to apply for the Thurman College; not just because he didn't have the money, but also because the studies available there were moot, as far as he was concerned. One of his garage's clients even admitted to have brought his car to the 'college' to see if any of the students or  _faculty_  could figure out what's wrong with his car, to no avail. Until Jason exorcised the 'gallstones' from his gas tank that previously blocked the gas' meter.

Yeah, Jason could do a better job out of  _instinct_  than any of the students there. Thus, he never saw the need to apply.

Tim? Tim would stick out like a sore thumb in there. The only 'chemical' related studies there were food prep and plant care. Neither of which would have appealed to Tim even if he was  _paid_  to do it. Tim's mother, as they have both suspected, had refused his repeated pleas to have him schooled at other colleges out of town. She claimed that she didn't want to lose sight of her only son, "not especially since your dad  _died_ , Timmy!" But Tim said that she was simply being obsessive and possessive.

That, and there was the fact that she was getting engaged to the town's Sheriff.

"She wouldn't even miss me when I'm gone. Sheriff Jones have like, three kids under the age of  _twelve_!" Tim said gleefully.

"Have you thought of where we'd live, in Gotham  _City_? It's a big city, Tim, not like Bris-Town." Jason pointed out.

"Oh yes I have. I thought we'd go there on the weekends, scope the living quarters, and then put a deposit for an apartment or whatever, and then move there little by little until we can completely move there. We should also look for jobs there while we're at it. You know I won't be proposing this if I hadn't thought of every angle." Tim explained, idly scratching his arm.

"Your mom would cut you off your inheritance if you do this." Jason reminded him.

"Pfft... she can't, really. Plus, there isn't much inheritance there, anyway." Tim said. "The so-called major inheritance is the house. And I can't really get it if she still live in it, now, can I? The lawyers sent  _me_  the dividend of my trust fund directly, and she can't stop it. It's only a couple of thousands, but it should be enough to cover a place for at least three months for us."

Jason has to admit, Tim is good at making plans. Bad at executing them. Although in Tim's defense, Jason would have to point out that the only thing that usually ruined Tim's plans would be his own mother. He had seen Tim had almost managed to build a microhydro-power plant at the town's fountain, only to have Janet Drake swung a hammer onto the contraption. Tim was twelve at the time.

 _Jason_  and his grandma had held Tim when he wept through that whole day.

Or when Tim started a petition to use the Town's fund to buy solar panels for water heaters; only to have Janet rip the physical signatures to pieces. Tim was fourteen. Grandpa had painstakingly glued the petition back together again, and Jason had handed the petition - now laminated solidly - to the City Hall. Janet Drake had flat out refused to have  _her_  house get a piece of the hot water installation, citing that the only place that needed hot water in her house was  _her_  bathroom, the one in her bedroom.

Tim had showered at Jason's or at his other friends' homes during winter from that point onward.

Jason had often wondered, if he has Tim's brain and his mom had been alive, if she would've done the same thing and sabotaged everything Jason would do. His grandparents would've been supportive - as supportive as they were of Tim's projects. He knew they would've been happy with him - proven by his grandpa's enthusiasm in teaching him about cars; even if his own truck eventually had to be sold off because he'd needed the money for his medicines. Or his grandma's undying support at him learning to  _cook_  - of all things. Tim was all thumbs when it comes to the kitchen; because Janet had forbidden him to do anything in the kitchen other than to open the fridge.

This time, however, Tim's plan would not involve or be touchable by Janet, at all. All Tim would need to do is bide for time, wait until he actually turned semi-legal.

Jason couldn't be sure if he should be glad or scared as all hell.


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, sorry not sorry for the two updates. I've just moved houses and am mentally fighting to get back on my groove. So many things to do... so many expenses. So many *tired*. And I think my muse got lost on the way to my new house. Figured if I can finish posting this story, the muse shall return soon.

August first. They 'landed' at Gotham City by August 1st. And by landed Jason meant that they actually parked Tim's car in front of an apartment building and unloaded their meager belongings. The car was partially filled with Tim's computer equipment, a few of Jason's tools (that he would require if Tim's car decided to suddenly die on them at one point or another), and clothes.

Tim reported that his mom was  _livid_  when he packed up his stuff. He  _said_ he'd just kissed her on the cheeks and told her he'd send a postcard from Gotham. Jason thought that there would have been somebody else there, probably Sheriff Jones, otherwise Tim could end up gotten clobbered and Mrs Drake would probably shackle him to the house. He had stayed over at Jason's place for a week, helping with storage of some of his grandparents' memento (Jason had paid for a year-long storage), and got his last-month deposit back from Mrs Lamont.

Mrs Lamont, on the other hand, had stated that if Jason ever chose to come back, she'll have a unit ready for him. "Your grandparents were my best tenants ever, dear. Don't you  _dare_  think I'd throw you out to the streets." she'd said, amidst her tears.

Jason had promised he'd write her, as often as he could.

He had somehow managed to get two jobs at once, at the diner a half-dozen blocks away, and a garage on the other side. The Narrows area of Gotham may not be the best neighborhood there is, but it was starting to build herself up. At least, Jason thought, their apartment was not in Crime Alley.

Crime Alley, where Jason was born and spent the first dozen years of his life, was the bane of Gotham. The denizens thereof were dirt poor - if not homeless. There are no organized crime in Crime Alley, just the ye-olde mugging, thievery, or flat out larceny. And the main reason why there is no organized crime there is basically because there would be no one there who were not a member of a gang elsewhere. Also because there were not enough places that they could benefit from, i.e. mom & pops stores, pharmacies, etc. The only redeeming quality of Crime Alley, Jason knew, is that the people are as poor as each other enough to the point where they would not rob each other, and would watch out for one another.

Unless one happened to be an outsider, that is. Like Tim. Who finally successfully enrolled himself for an associate degree in Bio Engineering at Gotham's Community College by September that year.

Jason always supposed that Tim's available finances would mean that he would not have to apply for Students' Aid to pay off the $3,500 two-years' worth of tuition. Tim's other expenses - books, travel cost, meal cost - could easily be covered by his dividends' income from the company his late father had left him (and the one his mom could not touch). Tim - in college - would look quite inconspicuous, anyway, with his slim-fit jeans, flannels, or hoodies. Unfortunately, said items of clothing (and music players, and tablets and smartphones on Tim's person) tend to attract the wrong attention at Gotham's less-than-affluent boroughs.

No matter how hard Jason tried to make him, Tim flat out  _refused_  to buy his clothes from Goodwill or any other second-hand store. Granted, his diminutive stature allowed him to  _not_  need a lot of clothes. But the clothes he actually had - as in the ones he did not steal off Jason's - looked  _expensive_. And thus make him appear to be quite a target whenever he passed through Crime Alley area on his way to the Community College at the Bowery - even if he was passing through in his 15-year-old car.

"I think you should exchange your car with something younger." Jason suggested. "I mean, this thing may be old, but it's about old enough to be a  _classic_. People might think you've actually bought it at premium."

Tim cackled. "Oh god... that was funny." he said, wiping tears from his laughter. "What's next? A disguise for my car?"

Jason shrugged. "Hey, a few  _strategically placed_  duct tape would take the attention off." he said.

Tim chortled again. "Oh my god, Jason...! Just because I nearly got mugged once, it doesn't mean it'll happen again! Besides, I told you, I've taken the wrong turn!"

Jason rolled his eyes. Tim  _did_  take a wrong turn, because his GPS gadget didn't know that Crime Alley areas should be avoided at all cost by anyone whose nett personal value is over $2,000. Annually.

It took Jason nearly an hour of arguments before Tim finally relented and make his GPS avoid  _all_  roads Jason deemed unsafe; as well as the be-all-end-all argument of: "I've been there on those streets, Timmers!  _Scoping_  for targets! They don't change just because I have!"

Low blow, he knew, to tug on Tim's heartstrings and blatant ignorance of how the other half lives. But it was necessary. Jason simply could not fathom the idea of someone from Crime Alley should hurt Tim. No, sir, he could not. He knew that should that happen, he would do everything he could to avenge Tim. And by default, he knew a  _lot_  that he could do, and to whom. After all, most of the present-day 'criminal elements' around the area would likely be those he'd grown up with.

November rolled by, and when Tim gleefully reported to him that the courses will run through most of the holidays and would only take breaks through weekend-holiday-dates, "because most of the kids and faculties are locals, anyway." Jason started to wonder if Gotham ever actually slept.

He, on the other hand, worked from day to night. Even with the shifts, the garage owner actually allowed him to switch shifts whenever the Diner switches. He felt kind of blessed.

Until the apartment building across theirs caught fire. Right after Christmas.

The buildings around the Narrows were not... decrepit, per se. But they were not young, either. Jason was sure that the city would have condemned a lot of the buildings, if they haven't gotten paid off by whoever the owners of the buildings are. Burning down a building to have it renovated later with the insurance money? Not out of the realms of those building owners, and Jason knew that all too well.

"I think..." Jason said slowly, as he and Tim watched the flames and the Fire Department working from the other side of the street. "We should figure out how to get enough money to move from here."

"Why?" Tim asked, wrapping Jason's arms around him.

"The buildings, you know they're old, right? The way it goes around here is that building owners wouldn't spare a dime to displace their tenants when they need to renovate their buildings. They'd just burn them down. It's the same in here, at Park Row, East End, and Bowery. The homes of people of the lower-end of the income brackets." Jason explained. "It's just--" he paused, looking for words.

"--your paranoid brain talking?" Tim supplied, grinning impishly.

"Nooo... not really. I'm just... I've looked around and noticed that our building is about as old as that one that's burning right now. We're also owned by Alonso's - the same owner as that building's. It'll only be a matter of time - like, maybe six months-ish - for them to settle the insurances for that one. And then they'll probably start the reconstruction phase of that one. Once they're done, I would bet you money that this building will be next to be torched." Jason elaborated. "It's just... I've seen it so many times at Park Row, you know? I can't help but noticing."

Tim hummed, swaying a little, snugly embraced by Jason's arms. "You know..." he started. "I've... I've gotten this offer..." he stopped.

Jason waited. But Tim did not continue. He poked Tim's rib, tickling him. "Yeeeah? You've got this offer of  _what_?"

Tim giggled. "Stop! I got this offer of a job. It's an internship job and doesn't pay much. But supposedly after three months, I'd get the option to live in their employees' housing. It's an apartment building, really. And it offers a lot of options for the housing. Like, from studio to three bedrooms, even the penthouse, if you can afford it." he said.

"You got a job offer and you're not telling me??" Jason scoffed, pressing his mouth on the crook of Tim's neck and playfully bit him.

"I just got it this morning!" Tim protested. "And I kinda forgot! I told them I'll think about it, 'cause I have to figure out the scheduling with the classes I'm taking for the Spring Semester..."

"Do they want like, eight hours' work day?"

"Yeeeah, that's what I'll need to figure out and/or ask. The big guy said I should contact him again after the holidays. I suppose that'll mean after January 1st..." Tim pouted. "Aaand tomorrow I'll need to check my class' scheduling so I can present an argument if the big guy is being... I dunno-- unreasonable?"

"Why did he want you to begin with? I mean, you're a first year student..." Jason wanted to know. "Not that I doubt your smarts. Just kinda weird."

"Oh yeah. He was my dad's business partner before dad died, apparently. He'd seen my grades for the last quarter, and liked that I'm focusing in bio-engineering. He thought I could learn so much more in his company's R&D and maybe even help out with fresh ideas." Tim said breezily. "I suppose he thought there're too many old people there and young brains should bring on new ideas..."

"That... actually sounded plausible." Jason agreed. "Just make sure you have some sort of contract or something for the living space when you get it, yeah?"

"Yes,  _dad_ , I'll make sure to ask one and have you look at it." Tim pouted at him coyly. Jason gave him a mock scowl.

"Twerp," he spat, lovingly bit Tim's lower lip.

"Mrmm... jerk..." Tim replied with a sigh.

By the end of January, they had packed up and moved to the Apartment Complex that housed most of Tim's colleagues. Jason had figured that either Tim's boss was soft on him, or Tim had really managed to convince said boss of his worth. They ended up in a one-bedroom apartment that was at least twice the size of Jason's grandparents' two-bedroom one. 

Jason had only enjoyed working at the Diner for approximately eight months since he'd arrived in Gotham. It was, in retrospect, a more enjoyable job than the one he has at a service garage - the dirts are easier to wash, for starter. And he would come home smelling of herbs instead of motor oil. Deep down, however, Jason was not expecting to work for years and years in there. Businesses in Gotham has only two endings: Get absorbed into a larger, corporate business; or went out in a blaze of glory.

In retrospect, he should have seen it coming. The mafia and gangster-types patron of the diner should have been a dead giveaway. But he was kind of desperate at the time. Besides, the people he worked with were nice and treated him like he was a "distant family member," - said old man Ricelli.

Only two weeks after they finally moved to Tim's new loft, at the Wayne Apartment Complex, Jason went to work to find several fire trucks rolling their hoses back into the trucks. And the diner that was his workplace roasted to cinder.

"Wha-- what happened..." he croaked his question to a bystander.

"Old man Ricelli's family got offed." the guy - one of the workers from across the street, replied. "Boy! You weren't in there!" he exclaimed, recognizing Jason. "How come?"

"I..." Jason blinked as he saw coroner's van carried out four body bags. One for each members of the Ricelli family. "I have another job... I'm only here for the night shift." he said. "Oh god..." he breathed, slumping to the ground.

"Consider countin' your blessin', boy. They tossed a molotov cocktail and it hit the gas line. Boom!" the man said. "You'd be crispy, too, if you were there."

That night, Jason hugged Tim extra hard as he fought back tears.

Gotham, he thought, he should've known that no good things last in Gotham unless you have a big load of cash attached to you.


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight had started when both of them were tired.

The fight had started when both of them were tired.

Gotham City. After a year of living here, Jason slowly came to a realization why his dad had never made it here. Or why his mom had crashed so far down to the point where she'd succumbed to mind-numbing drugs, and then opted for death. Or that he was  _so_  sure back then - before his grandparents had found him - that he would end up as a criminal and died on the streets. Or in prison.

After the diner's fire, Jason's boss at the garage had welcomed him with open arms for a full-time job. He would have made a little less than at the diner - the diner gave tips, after all. But the boss said if people liked him, he could be getting house calls - which means more money. Unfortunately, there are at least a dozen other mechanics at the garage who were fighting for the same opportunity - and Jason was not a competitive person by nature.

But this is Gotham, a city nearly conquered by mafioso and gangsters and they didn't care, those gangsters. They didn't care that the garage was owned by an army veteran, only trying to make a living for himself and his employees. They'd used the garage as a chop shop, anyway. Jason's boss didn't know it, at first.  _Jason_  didn't know it at first, that those sharply-dressed dudes bringing in the cars only to have them stripped for parts.

He was  _so_  shocked at the police raid he could barely make his escape. If it wasn't for his earlier-honed, latent Gotham instinct, Jason would've probably been arrested along with his colleagues and boss. But Jason was raised in the streets of Gotham - almost literally. And in spite of his five-year-long residence in Bristol Town - as sedate as Gotham is not - his reflexes had kicked in as soon as he'd hear "Police! Freeze!" He'd climbed out to the roof, the only place he knew wouldn't be watched by the cops, and made his escape from there.

How was he supposed to know that Tim was having a bad day, too?

Tim has been working the full-time internship job at WayneTech in the past four months. With Jason working full time at the garage and diner before the fire - and then the garage full time day and night, they had barely met for longer than a few hours - aside of during bedtime. Both had all but collapsed into bed and pass out the instant their respective heads hit anything soft.

Exhaustion did not leave a mark on one's skin, Jason thought, but it sure destroyed one's mind and body thoroughly. In retrospect, Jason should have noticed the signs of exhaustion on Tim's more frail body as it showed blatantly on his porcelain skin through the dark rings under his eyes.

Instead, he'd snarled, "where have you been." when Tim walked in at 10 pm, a mere hour after Jason had ran out of the garage. Jason had slumped on the couch, feeling  _very_  defeated.

Tim blinked. "I've been working. Why are you here?" he snapped back. "Shouldn't you be working?"

"The garage job is bust." Jason sniped back. Not feeling amiable at all. "You're supposed to buy some milk. We don't have milk anymore."

Tim groaned and his coat missed the hanger. "I don't have time. I need to finish my report..."

"You don't have fucking time to get some milk? Well then you shouldn't be drinking it!" Jason spat. "And pick up your coat. Stop being such a slob."

Tim was still for a long time. If Jason was any smarter, he would have stopped being snappish. But he was not smart. So he pressed on.

"What? You need your mommy to pick up after you now?" he gritted. Tim moved so fast that Jason didn't see him until he yanked the blanket that lined the couch. He yelped as he was dumped on to the floor. "What the fuck, Tim!"

"What the hell is wrong with you??" Tim snarled. "You've been acting like such an asshole in the past few weeks!"

" _I'm_  the asshole?? Well if you expected me to wait up for you hands and feet, you shoulda told me that from the start, Timmy!" Jason spat . "I should've known that your  _kindness_  comes with a price. Especially you  _rich folks_!"

"Well ex _cuuuse_  me if you think living here,  _with me_ , as a  _price_! Last time I checked, you were the one who wanted to move from the Narrows!" Tim gritted back.

"I didn't need to live in the  _Ritz_  like you, rich boy! I didn't need to live beyond  _my_  means!"

By the time Jason stood up and faced Tim, both of their faces were red in anger. And Jason had definitely -  _completely_  - missed the dark circles under Tim's eyes.

"I worked, too, remember?? I worked  _hard_  to make sure we can afford this!" Tim all but screamed. "It's not like your income means anything,  _anyway_!"

"Well then you should be happy. You get yourself your  _servant_ , 'master', ready to fill all your whim like your mommy did!" Jason roared back.

He should not have brought up Tim's mother. He should not have yelled at Tim. There were a lot of things that Jason regretted, and this was one of it.

"You're... you know what? If you  _really_  think I'm using you, why don't you just  _leave_. I don't need a dumbass like you as much as you don't need me. So leave!"

Jason was never sure if Tim had said those and meant them or not. But his pride and rage, and maybe  _arrogance_ , clouded his rationale more than most. He stormed out the door, stopping only to grab his coat.

Once outside, in the streets, he thought he could hear a scream coming from the 21st floor.

The fight ended with Jason reeling. Feeling even more tired than before. Walking aimlessly across East End. Just walking on through the night. Didn't even care where to. His anger had abated a little while ago, but not his pride.

Tim didn't need him. He'd said it himself. Jason had always known that Tim could, and  _would_  do better than him. Tim was smart, pretty, vivacious. Everything Jason is  _not_. It would take him all of two minutes to find another roommate. It would probably take him all of two  _hours_  to get another boyfriend. They were never... officially  _official_ , anyway. They'd never said the magic words to each other. They'd never pledged their loyalties to one another.

They were friends with benefits. That's all they were. Neither of them cared  _that_  much for each other. Tim's presentation had detailed their individual rights and obligations, and there was nothing there that said they should care for one another.

Jason kept walking, fuming. Tim had needed a partner in crime to get out of Bris-Town to Gotham. Tim had needed someone to clean the house, get food -  _make_  food; while he grabbed his opportunities to be a great  _something_  by the nose and ride into the sunset. Tim had never needed  _Jason_  specifically. He was just there because he was stupid enough to fall right in to Tim's plans without questioning too much. Because  _his_  circumstances had fallen right in with Tim's planning and left him with no choice.

Well now, he thought, as he looked around and realized his surrounding.  _It's time for me to take matters into my own hands._  Again.


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The only bright side of this is that Jason knew that he would be too old to be used by the drug peddlers as a runner. And he was too big to be a hooker - again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, sorry. I'll update with more soon. :)

Jason didn't know how he ended up here, the place where he used to live with his mom. The building has long since being condemned - which, in Gotham, it would mean that it had turned to a fertile ground for the society's losers and homeless.

His last salary from the diner  _could_  cover a rent in a motel. But Jason knew that, in spite of the larger number, Gotham's public transport system is far worse than Bristol's. And they would all be ultra-packed to the point that it was disgusting to even consider getting into one.

The only bright side of this is that Jason knew that he would be too old to be used by the drug peddlers as a runner. And he was too big to be a hooker - again.

The realization did not make it any easier for him as he slipped into the condemned building and walked up the stairs. Apartment 2D - where he and his mom used to live - was still there. The lock was never replaced, apparently, since the building was condemned for mold infestation not long after his mom had died. The whole occupants of the building was moved to... Jason did not know where his neighbors were moved to. The only thing that mattered is that the door was still locked, and he actually has the key. The only thing he has in his wallet that he'd moved from wallet to wallet in the past five years.

He walked in, and instinctively flicked on the light switch. Then he laughed to himself when he realized that the power must have been cut off since god knows when. The street light out side was the only thing that illuminated the apartment, coming in from the cracks of the boards that were used to bar the windows from the outside.

Surprisingly, the old mattress where his mother had died on was still there. It did not look worn - well, not more than it already was. He flipped the mattress, finding the other side a little cleaner than the up-facing one, and sighed.

He knew why it wasn't occupied by the homeless people littering the building. First of all, it was located right in front of the stairways, on the lowest floor. It would make it prime target if cops suddenly wanted to storm the building. And Gotham's police has the habit of storming first, ask questions later. As long as they see a busted key, they would storm the door like their wives were screwing her lover behind it.

Second reason was likely to be his mom's death. Homeless people, Jason discovered back then, have quite a morbid superstition against squatting in a place where someone had died. That, he smiled wryly to himself, was the reason why  _he_  hadn't gone back here back then: The superstition and the fact that it was newly condemned - law enforcement people liked to raid newly condemned people in the first six months of it being condemned. Just for kicks - to kick out squatters.

Now, however, Jason couldn't care less. He was tired, hungry, sad, and angry. He still has a few 20s in his wallet, and there should be a few hundred bucks in his bank. It should be enough to last him a while, at least until he gets a job.

Jason slumped down on the mattress, finally allowing his fatigue to take over. He could feel his tears spilling from his eyes, wetting the mattress. But he didn't care anymore.


	8. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, Jason doubted that Tim would have vouched for him.

It was only after filling up his metro card that Jason realized that: a. he only has ten bucks and some loose change to his name, and; b. his ATM card was missing from his wallet. It took little effort to remember that he had left the card on the kitchen table, next to the list of things to pay. The list of things he'd  _intended_  to pay off before he'd stormed out of thei--  _Tim's_ apartment.

He momentarily contemplated to go back there, break in. His own apartment cardkey were... still there in the key slot when he'd entered for the last time. He wondered if the building's guard would let him in if he pretended he'd lost his key; until he remembered that the homophobic bastard hated him, and only tolerated Tim because he thought Tim was a WayneTech employee.

He sighed dejectedly, and decided that it would mean that he should get a job  _today_. He simply couldn't afford even a decent meal for more than two meals with $10. He used a quarter to get a newspaper, and promptly flipped the pages to the classifieds.

By that afternoon, Jason had walked about a hundred-blocks' worth of Gotham. He had entered just about every mom-and-pops store, shops, garages - even pawn shops and a junkyard - and asked if they have a vacancy. None. There were a few that seemed available, but they would need a Good Behavior note from the cops. And a Good Behavior note, while easy to obtain, would require him to have a permanent address and a phone number to contact  _in the city_.

Somehow, Jason doubted that Tim would have vouched for him.

Some of the pawnshops and the junkyard were promising, at first. But then Jason realized that some of the 'patrons' of the places were... quite familiar. One of the bastards was actually the person who'd used his old workplace, the garage, as chop shop for stolen car. He had, ironically, apologized for making him lose that job. And therefore, as good will, he would offer Jason a place in his team. All Jason needed to do is boost up a couple of car accessories and sell it to him.

Jason said he'll think about it. The guy seemed happy and handed him a hundred bucks and a phone number inscribed on a card. Ron Dewald, businessman.

Jason had patted himself on the back for not snorting out loud at the 'businessman' word on the card.

It wasn't until two months later, actually, with a mere handful of quarters remaining to his name, that Jason  _seriously_  contemplated calling the guy. A hundred bucks really don't stretch too long in Gotham City. While Jason managed to stretch it, his job-hunting travels and his cellphone  _really_  didn't lend to too much stretching to the hundred bucks. His old cellphone number has long since died, and he has been using a $10 burner phone with unlimited call package since.

He'd... 'supplemented' his income by pickpocketing. Unfortunately, much to his dismay, most of the rich people downtown didn't seem to carry too much money at hand anymore these days. He has read in the papers about this 'going cashless' stuff, and that most people has a card that worked as their money.

The only problem is that Jason did not know what kind of security those cards would have, and he has no intention on getting caught  _twice_. He had tried to use the card once, in a supermarket, and a woman's face showed up when the cashier asked for a pin number. He had loudly cursed and said it was his roomie's, and had to rearrange his purchases so that he wouldn't run out of the $50 he'd had picked out of the same woman's purse.

Good thing that his purchases would pass for a college-aged semi-adult with a roommate. All bulk, packaged, and discounted stuff; toilet papers - the cheapest he could find with the largest bulk; cereals and crackers. The only fresh thing was the pound of plums that was on discount for 99 cents. And dear  _god_  he'd savored those plums, in spite of its near-decay conditions.

But today, he was down to his last $10. It was getting cold in Gotham, and surprisingly, the Downtown area's prowlers have thinned considerably. Plus, it would be more difficult to pickpocket with people wearing thick coats. Jason knew it well - he'd tried before. Back then when he was little and cute and could blend in even with Goodwill's $1.50 jacket. As great as Goodwill's are, the $2.50 jackets for adults looked worse than a child's. There was no way he would be able to go in to a mall or any building with the jacket and not attract attention.

So he made the call.

Some of the pawnshops and the junkyard were promising, at first. But then Jason realized that some of the 'patrons' of the places were... quite familiar. One of the bastards was actually the person who'd used his old workplace, the garage, as chop shop for stolen car. He had, ironically, apologized for making him lose that job. And therefore, as good will, he would offer Jason a place in his team. All Jason needed to do is boost up a couple of car accessories and sell it to him.

Jason said he'll think about it. The guy seemed happy and handed him a hundred bucks and a phone number inscribed on a card. Ron Dewald, businessman.

Jason had patted himself on the back for not snorting out loud at the 'businessman' word on the card.

It wasn't until two months later, actually, with a mere handful of quarters remaining to his name, that Jason  _seriously_  contemplated calling the guy. A hundred bucks really don't stretch too long in Gotham City. While Jason managed to stretch it, his job-hunting travels and his cellphone  _really_  didn't lend to too much stretching to the hundred bucks. His old cellphone number has long since died, and he has been using a $10 burner phone with unlimited call package since.

He'd... 'supplemented' his income by pickpocketing. Unfortunately, much to his dismay, most of the rich people downtown didn't seem to carry too much money at hand anymore these days. He has read in the papers about this 'going cashless' stuff, and that most people has a card that worked as their money.

The only problem is that Jason did not know what kind of security those cards would have, and he has no intention on getting caught  _twice_. He had tried to use the card once, in a supermarket, and a woman's face showed up when the cashier asked for a pin number. He had loudly cursed and said it was his roomie's, and had to rearrange his purchases so that he wouldn't run out of the $50 he'd had picked out of the same woman's purse.

Good thing that his purchases would pass for a college-aged semi-adult with a roommate. All bulk, packaged, and discounted stuff; toilet papers - the cheapest he could find with the largest bulk; cereals and crackers. The only fresh thing was the pound of plums that was on discount for 99 cents. And dear  _god_  he'd savored those plums, in spite of its near-decay conditions.

But today, he was down to his last $10. It was getting cold in Gotham, and surprisingly, the Downtown area's prowlers have thinned considerably. Plus, it would be more difficult to pickpocket with people wearing thick coats. Jason knew it well - he'd tried before. Back then when he was little and cute and could blend in even with Goodwill's $1.50 jacket. As great as Goodwill's are, the $2.50 jackets for adults looked worse than a child's. There was no way he would be able to go in to a mall or any building with the jacket and not attract attention.

So he made the call.


	9. Chapter 8

Thanksgiving came and went without Jason realizing it. It was kind of difficult to be thankful when one is living - _squatting_ \- in a place where one's mom died and one's life went to the ditch.

His first few jobs were easy. While it would be difficult for him to blend in at crowded places, he has no problem with going in to an open-air, multi-storied parking lots. The first few items were simple, too. Car logos, rear-view mirrors, even the side-mirror's holders, sometimes. Each item would earn him at least $20 - the higher-end the car is, the more money Dewald would pay him.

He  _had_ warned Dewald that he did not want to do this too often. Once a week would be his limit, because an increase of petty car accessories loss would have raised suspicions, and Gothamites are paranoid by nature. They could decide to upgrade their alarms or something like that.

Dewald's comments was, "Spoken like a true Gothamite there,  _son_."

And Jason had swallowed a grimace. Painful realization hit him that he  _was_ his loser of a father's son, after all. Good for nothing but petty crimes. He no longer wondered  _if_  he'd be dead like his father, just  _when_. After all, his dad was only 25 years old when he'd died. The only consolation Jason felt was that he had not impregnated anyone, and not likely ever will.

After a month, the loot 'grew up', from mirrors to hubcaps, to eventual stripping of the entire car. He would have to work with a few other guys to strip a car, and he has been training a lot and improved his speed considerably to the point where he and his two...  _contemporaries_  would be able to strip a car to its  _engines_  in under eight minutes.

"We could probably apply for a world's record or some shit." one of his contemporaries quipped. Jason just gave him a withering glare.

His first stripping was... almost fun. They had scoped a lawyer, who went to visit a hooker at East End, and stripped his Porsche gleefully. Jason barely felt the guilt - even nearly laughed out loud - when the morning news grimly reported of the 'prank' that had befallen said high-class lawyer "who was visiting a client." Oh yeah, Jason  _knew_  for a fact that he was visiting a hooker. Preferably blonde, most preferably underaged. The brownstone he was visiting was known around the block to be a brothel. Hopefully, the fact that he was robbed blind while molesting underaged girls would deter him from coming back there.

The next one was a pharmaceutical company's businessman with a penchant for drugs - the illegal kind. They had stripped the car with the guy still in it, high as a kite. And because Jason was not heartless, he'd called 911 and told them of a guy fallen asleep in a car and the car has been stripped around him. His contemporaries were amused. Dewald roared with laughter when they told him.

Annnd... because life of crime doesn't pay, before their third job, one of his contemporaries got arrested. Dewald was furious. So was Jason. Now they would have to train  _yet another_  person to take over the stripping job. In spite the fact that they could do it with just the two of them, it would take considerably longer.

Like, by five whole minutes.

Jason didn't want to risk it. He told Dewald that he'll figure out what can be nicked in that time, and suggested that they all take a break. "It's not like we're running a retail store." he said, completely hiding the fact that  _he_  was running low on cash.

He has been trying to apply to a hell of a lot of places that would accept a high school graduate. He'd even put his name at stores that would hold Black Friday sales, even. A moving company had called him twice, and he'd gone there. But the job consisted of a lot of heavy lifting, and a less-than-minimum wage of $7.50 an hour. His first job had earned him $52. The second one earned him $30. And a massive muscle aches for both jobs. Jason was partially glad that they hadn't needed him too often - just enough to convince people, like the grocery store clerk, that he has an actual job, but not enough to render his muscles to be in constant pain and soreness.

He was about to turn back home when he spotted the black sportscar parked in an alley behind the Park Row theatre - the worst part  _ever_  in Crime Alley to have parked a car. Let alone a luxurious Lamborghini like this one.

He looked around, noticing that there is no movement around him, before he approached the car. The car's windows were tinted, but not too darkly. He flashed his flashlight inward for a few seconds, noticing with relief that there was no one in it, conscious or otherwise. He surreptitiously walked around, scoping the car. He couldn't pick the mirrors - they would have nasty cables linked to the car's alarm and electronics. He could probably get the logo, bumper, and maybe hubcap.

He looked around again, noticing that there is still no movement around him, and crouched by the front tire. The hubcap seemed rather loose. A simple poke with his pick, and it came loose into his hand. Jason nearly yelped at it.

After setting the hubcap aside and shifting to the next tire, Jason suddenly noticed that the lug nuts of the tire were not covered.

He grinned to himself and started to work: propping the car's axles against a pile of bricks would prevent the car from tilting as the tire was loosened. It took him under two minutes to release the nuts, one to prop the bricks. It might not be much, but at the very least, it could be fenced off for spare tire of other Lamborghinis.

Jason straightened up just in time to see the man standing by the back of the car, effectively blocking his exit.

"Uh," yeah, he was never caught before. He truly didn't know what to say.

"You might want to put the tire back on, son, I might even look the other way for the hubcap. But the tire is a custom. It is a hassle to replace." The man, a black-haired, blue-eyed guy slightly bigger than Jason, said calmly.

"Hey, this is Crime Alley you know? It's your fault that you parked here!" Jason huffed.

The man looked solemn. "I know," he said. "My parents died here, twenty two years ago, today." he pointed to a spot a few yards behind the car. "I was paying my respect. Now please put the tire back on, I'll give you fifty bucks, since I don't think you're really stealing it for malice."

At the words 'my parents died here', Jason stilled, feeling like a heel. He knew the guy. All of Gotham knew the guy. He would be surprised if the entire Eastern Seaboard would be highly familiar with the guy.

Bruce Wayne, billionaire orphan, fun-loving playboy philanthropist whose parents were shot to death at Crime Alley when he was ten years old. The man who'd taken in an orphaned circus boy some ten years ago and made him his adopted son. The man who'd built numerous hospitals, clinics, and other public buildings for the use of the less-fortunate Gothamites. The man who'd made it a point that his company would produce generic medicines to be sold  _especially_  for Gotham's poor, under the strict supervision of Dr Leslie Thompkins, the only physician that Jason knew had been working around Crime Alley and the Narrows in her free clinic.

Gotham's own Knight in Shining Italian-made three-piece-suit-and-tie.

The guy that owns the company Tim is working for.

Jason sighed and started to put the tire back on. He couldn't steal from an angel like Bruce Wayne. Politicians, crooked lawyers, stupid profiteering businessmen, sure. But Bruce Wayne? His guilt would probably kill him within days.

He put the tire back on, and the hubcap, too, before sighing dejectedly. "I just... I'm sorry for your parents, Mr Wayne." he said. "Just... tell your mechanic guy to cap the lugs. Next time I see them uncovered, I'll hoist them tires right away because it'll just be due to your stupid."

Bruce Wayne gave him a small smile, and handed him a $50. "For the tip," he said, probably sensing Jason's hesitation. Jason took it - as much as he hated being a charity case, the guy could afford it, he figured. Also the guy needed to fire his mechanic. He watched as Wayne got in and the car purred to life, backing a few feet, before roaring out of the alley.

Much to Jason's surprise, it backed in to the alley within three seconds. Wayne opened his passenger-side window and Jason peeked in. "What?"

"What did you do to the tire?" he asked, puzzlement evident in his face. "I've brought this car to about six mechanics, one imported straight from the factory in Italy, and the front right tire had always wobbled. It's not wobbling now. What did you do?"

Jason blinked. "Uh... there was a bolt that didn't fit, so I removed it. Only by a few millimeters, though. You want it?" he showed the offending item on his palm.

"How did you know it didn't fit?"

"It's just... I just do." Jason shrugged. Wayne glared at him with the intensity that made Jason's skin itches.

"You good with cars?"

Jason lifted his shoulders slowly. "I've worked in garages before. My granddad used to let me practice with his buddies' cars. I made my...  _ex_ boyfriend's 15-year-old piece of junk stayed alive." he said.

"You know what? Come over to the Wayne Manor tomorrow, any time after noon. I have a few other cars I'd like you to look at." he handed him a business card. "What's your name?"

"Uh... Jason," he hesitated, wondering if he should give his last name or not. But then figured that Wayne would probably not remember it, anyway. "Jason Todd."

"Alright, Jason Todd. I'll leave your name with my butler." Wayne nodded. "And thanks!"

"Hope it's worth the $50," Jason smirked wryly.

"Buddy, I've spent more than that just because of a single bolt. I'd hand you more, but I don't have cash at hand right now. So come over tomorrow, yeah?"

"Alright."

Wayne sped off again. And Jason wondered just what the hell is it he'd just gotten himself into. Bruce Wayne may not be a mafioso or gangster, but he literally owns more than half of Gotham through various industries.

For the first time in a little... oh, who was he kidding. For the first time in a  _long_  while, Jason felt a little hope started to flicker in his heart.

And dear god he prayed that he would not screw this one up.


	10. Chapter 9

Wayne Manor, Bruce Wayne's residence - presumably where he'd kept his cars and whatnot - was located between Gotham and Bristol. It was one of the few areas where the metaphorical aristocrats of Gotham would still hold 'forts' and build massive estates that could serve as a small town these days. Getting there would not be easy, especially if one does not own a vehicle of sorts. Jason contemplated stealing a car - or maybe a bicycle - to get there easier. 

Yet he went without committing a crime of any kind. A lot of buses, a lot of walking, and a few miles of walking and grumbling on how those damn rich people just don't get the idea of accommodating those who doesn't own personal modes of transportation when they made their massive-ass homes.

The last bus stop was literally all the way around the upper quarter of Gotham, all the way alongside Somerset county line; crossing Mooney Bridge, and then all the way around the borders of Bristol County. And then he reached Wayne Manor's  _gate_. Only then that he realized that it would have been closer if he'd taken any transportation crossing Robert Kane Bridge - until he realized why there wasn't any buses that went there: the highway didn't have exits until just outside of Bristol  _Town_.

And therefore, Jason had to walk from the bus' last stop in front of Pike Drive-in, a few miles Northeast until he reached the damn gate. He wondered if it's a good or bad thing that he had carried all of his tools and mechanic's onesie. Maybe Mr Wayne would have a spare room somewhere he could spend the night in, if the job ended a little late. It was, after all, 1.30-ish.

He pressed the button to an intercom and waited. A decidedly British voice answered a few moments later with, "Wayne Manor. How may I help you?"

"Uh, yeah, hi. I'm Jason Todd. Mr Wayne asked me to come around noon?" he replied hesitantly. "I'm a mechanic." he added, feeling a little stupid and hoping that this British guy isn't the curious kind who'd ask something along the line of 'so, how did Mr Wayne find you?' ('Oh, I was stealing his tire and then accidentally  _fixed_  it.') -- Awkward.

The voice was silent for a few heartbeats, and then he asked, "did you walk here, young Sir?"

Jason blinked, and then noticed the camera light blinking a few feet behind the intercom. Oh.

"Yeah, I don't have a car." he admitted, feeling stupider still. Yet slightly thankful he'd not arrived in a stolen vehicle - he supposed Wayne would have some sort of scanner that could tell him if a car is borrowed or unlawfully 'borrowed'. 

"Kindly wait, then, while I fetch the cart. It might be a while, yet." the voice said, not mockingly, but not... Jason didn't know if the voice is anything but friendly. The only description he could think of was  _flat_ , emotionless. He wondered what the guy looked like as he waited a few feet away from the gate.

He noted that if anyone was to come in or out, they would have to do it through the big gate. He remembered that the big houses in Bris-Town would have a small gate next to the big one, for service people. The more pretentious one would have the small gate all the way in the back, purportedly closer to the service area, i.e. kitchen, garage, garden. But Wayne Manor didn't seem to have any.

Then again,

Actually, Jason was yet to be able to  _see_  the building itself. He saw a long winding road practically fenced with massive trees behind the gate and his stomach clenched, thinking of the mighty  _long_  walk he'd have to endure. Again.

Grandpa's calm voice echoed in his mind, "whatever hardships you're looking at, son, at least it's legal money."

Followed by Tim's voice saying, "I believe in you, Jason. Whatever it takes, if you face it head on, I'm sure it can be done."

He sighed out loud. Ten minutes, and the guy who answered his intercom still hasn't showed up. The door hasn't even been opened, either. The guy gotta be coming to pick him up or something - he mentioned something about a 'cart', and Jason's mind supplied him with the image of a horse-and-buggy cart. Really, what else could it be?

Another 10 minutes, and Jason wondered if the guy would actually come, or if he should call Mr Wayne. His phone's credit was running kind of low and he wasn't pretty much convinced that Wayne would actually pick up. Rich people usually have people to pick up his phone, right? And Wayne was  _the_  richest amongst the rich people. The assistant guy who picks up his phone likely would have an assistant, too.

The door finally opened, and Jason watched in amazement as a  _golf cart_ wheeled out with one person in  _suit_  and  _bow tie_ , and the other, younger person in jeans and T-shirt, covered in a light jacket.

"Hi!" the younger person leaped out of the cart. "You must be Jason. I'm Dick Grayson. Bruce told me who you are and he thinks you can fix Nellie." he said cheerfully, extending a hand.

"Oh, hi. Nice to meet you." Dick Grayson was Bruce Wayne's adopted son, and he looked only a little older than Jason. Slightly shorter than Jason, but even the jacket could not hide the lithe muscles on his body.

"This is Alfred... Pennyworth. He's Bruce's valet and butler and all around caretaker of... well, everything." Grayson introduced.

"I do apologize for the delay, Mister Todd. Master Richard insisted to come along." the valet, Pennyworth said. "Shall we, then, gentlemen?" he motioned.

"Go on, you sit next to Alfred, I'll sit in the back." Grayson said, already  _perched_  on the back of the cart, facing the front, as Jason hesitantly climbed on.

The driveway, as Jason predicted, was  _very_  long. Painfully long, if he were on foot. Jason made a mental note to get a bicycle, at least. Or a roller blade. If Wayne turned out to be a frequent client.

The drive was filled with Grayson excitedly chattering about a whole random things from the age of the oaks lining the driveway, to the size of the manor's grounds (150 acres! How the hell is that even a  _house_!); the size of the house (42+  _thousand_  square feet! What??); and the garages. Garage _s_. Plural.

"So how many cars does he have?" Jason wanted to know, when he could finally get a word in edgewise.

"Uhh..." Grayson groaned. "I've lost count a while ago." he admitted, grinning sheepishly.

"On the premises, Sir, there are 142. There are approximately 32 antiques that belonged to Master Bruce's father, and Master Bruce himself has seven more at the Penthouse. Master Dick has twelve of his own." The valet answered. "That is the present, physical count, not including the ones that were traded off as exchange nor the ones I utilize for both Master Bruce's transports or procurement of supplies."

Jason must have turned green, because Grayson suddenly patted his back, asking, "hey, you okay?"

He swallowed around the lump in his throat. "That's a load of cars."

"Oh, you won't have to look at them all at once. Don't worry. He'll probably just ask you to look at Nellie first."

"Nellie?" he echoed, rather hollowly.

"Yup, she's Bruce's favorite." said Grayson. "She's been out of commission for a while. She's old, but not like,  _ancient_  enough, yet. Although I can't understand why Bruce is keeping her, but hey..."

"One does not 'replace' a beloved once she has chinks in her armor, Master Dick," Pennyworth stated, just as they rounded the corner and the roof of the majestic, 4-storey mansion came into view.

Jason found his jaw on the floor.

The little voice in his head said, ' _Tim would have loved this place_.'


	11. Chapter 10

Nellie, thankfully, was  _not_  a pretentious sportscar that screamed  _mid-life crisis_. She was a 1979 Jeep with the only remaining original parts being her chassis. The innards have been modified with a more modernized engines and creature comforts - it has an integrated entertainment center and speakers that Jason had been _dreaming_ for during his high school days.

Bruce Wayne was waiting right by Nellie's side when the valet ("please call me Alfred, Mr. Todd) deposited Jason and Dick Grayson on the side of the house, at the garages.

"This is Nellie," he said proudly. "I got her with my own money, not my parents'. I had actually saved up from an experience of doing manual labor." he added, a little defensively. "I'm certain Alfred and Dick would have told you that I own a lot of cars."

Jason nodded numbly, biting his inner cheek to stop himself from saying things like, 'sure, the taxes of half of your cars could probably feed a small country!'

Instead, he said, "she's a special one, alright." because she would be. She implied that the driver is a humble, adventurous guy. Not a pompous and rich spoiled billionaire.

"Absolutely. I worked in a farm in Ireland, and when I got back here, the conversion rate to my salary earned me Nellie." Wayne smiled smugly. "Dick's  _beloved_  is... Carly?" he asked his son, pointing to a bright - almost neon - blue 1992 Camaro RS.

"Carly is alive and well, thank you very much." Grayson replied indignantly. " _I_  take care of her better than  _you_  did yours, rich boy."

Jason was almost confused at Grayson's attitude toward his stepfather, before remembering that Grayson was not much younger than Wayne. Probably by 10 years or thereabout. They were more brothers than father-and-son, he supposed. He mentally shrugged and asked, "Right, does the garage have a bathroom I can change at? And who do I talk to if I need supplies?"

"Bathroom's the first door to your right, and you can tell me or Alfred if you need anything - spareparts included. We have some spareparts here, that big closet there." Grayson pointed at a big double-door - that Jason thought was a room or something - at the end of the garage. "But if it's not there, just let me know and I'll have it ordered. I wanna hang out here and watch you work, if you don't mind." he grinned a shit-eating grin.

"I'm not gonna steal anything." The words flew out of Jason's mouth before he could even stop it. Hey, he's from Crime Alley. The only time people like Wayne or Grayson would speak to his face would be when they would be filing a police report or complaint to the manager of the premises. His reaction was instinctive.

"Oh, yeah, Bruce told me about you trying to--  _liberate_  his Lamborghini's tire, and somehow fixed it, instead. I'm not worried about you stealing. Just figured I could learn some tips from you to take care of my Carly and show off to Bruce some." Grayson replied nonchalantly. "Besides, if you were, you can't get out of here  _that_  quickly, anyway. The gate is kinda far and you don't have a vehicle, after all. The buggy doesn't move that fast." he grinned mirthfully.

Oh, right. Jason almost rolled his eyes at his own stupidity. Alfred the valet/butler came to his rescue. "I strongly advise you to indulge first and foremost, Mister Todd." he announced, coming out of a door that Jason guessed would be leading to the house, a tray in his hands. "I have made you some tomato sandwiches, since I am not aware as of yet if you eat meat or otherwise.." he added, lifting the lid after setting it down on a table.

"I eat meat," Jason blurted. But the sandwich looked more like grilled cheese and it smelled so delicious Jason's mouth watered. "Right, I'mma wash my hands first..." he said awkwardly and headed to the bathroom. Behind him, Grayson said 'I want one, too, Al,' and the valet said something he couldn't hear as he closed the bathroom door.

Probably something along the side of how 'we don't eat with the help, Richard,' or something along the line. Jason would not be surprised at it, really. 

He leaned his head on the door of the bathroom, savoring the cool tiles. Even the garage's bathroom looked a whole load nicer than any bathrooms Jason has ever seen before. Heck, it looked nicer than his _apartments_ - any apartments that he had lived before. There were lockers on the side of it - twelve lockers. The first lockers had plaques saying 'Bruce', 'Dick', and 'Damian'. He reckoned that those would be where the Waynes' shop clothes would be at.

He changed into his onesie and scrubbed his face - the hot water tap felt heavenly on his skin. And then he remembered the cheesy melty tomato sandwich waiting for him outside and his mouth started watering again. It has been  _too_  long while since he'd had hot food that doesn't come with a toy. Thus, he figured that he couldn't be blamed much if he rushed outside.

Surprisingly, Grayson was waiting by the table, another plate of sandwiches and two big pots of drinks by his side, with an expectant grin on his face. 

"Coffee and tea, Alfred made both. Shall we?" he offered the spread in front of them.

"Yes, thank you." Jason remembered his manners and took a seat by the table, across Grayson's. "So, tell me what happened to Nellie?"

Grayson's smirk was impish, "well that, Jason, buddy, is a loooong saga filled with princesses, dragons, and witches - oh my!" he quipped. 

Jason shrugged, thinking this guy wasn't so bad, actually. He might end up liking him just fine. "I've got all day." he said. 

Grayson chuckled. "Okay, it started with a princess named Selina who'd ran away to the marshes of Ireland..."


	12. Chapter 11

A week before Christmas, Jason got an assignment that brought back a lot of memories for him.

One of the things that Bruce apparently needed for the holidays were his 'winter cars'. Dick explained that the 'winter cars' are the cars Bruce had kept in his Penthouse apartment complex Downtown. Apparently, there were a few cars in which Bruce would use for the Christmas Parade that, "extremely heated even while it's being driven with open sunroof."

Dick had quipped, "he meant that he's getting old and feeling the chill a lot more, so you'll need to make sure that the heaters worked well."

Bruce had glowered at Dick, and told Alfred, "call the orphanage, I would like to make an exchange for this one."

Alfred had said, "very well, sir," dryly, and thoroughly ignored Bruce. Dick just gave Jason a remorseless shit-eating grin.

Jason remembered that he had actually went to the parade way back when he was little. He didn't get to see the people on the floats, just the cars. He never knew that Bruce, as the son of one of Gotham's founding families, would be in the parade, too. He just knew that they would all use Rolls Royce Limos, and only two of the families - Wayne and the Kanes - would come out and wave. The more vivid thing that he remembered, however, was that it was prime time for his dad to pickpocket people. 

What kind of amazed him is that apparently, Bruce's Limo was also used to drive his company's employees' weddings. "Hence it being stored at the complex." Dick explained. "Anyway, I need to get some things up top. You gotta go down there to the lab and ask them for the key. If it's not there, they'll know who used it last."

"Right, thanks." Jason said automatically - blankly - as he alighted from Dick's car, looking at the complex with a little apprehension. The name tag from Bruce, complete with his photo and name, was... a little more accommodating in his entrance to the complex. But then again, he was entering from the service deck, not from the occupants' lobby, anyway.

He breathed slowly, making his way down to the laboratory of science stuff he'd always been eager to peek into, but never got the chance. Supposedly, they were building robots there - so the rumors said. But he had never been able to find the time to actually go there and  _look_. And he'd always forgotten to ask Tim about them back then. Besides, Tim's division was bio-engineering. Not robotics.

He stilled in front of the door to the lab and steadied his heart, the pangs of pain from thinking about Tim still there. Loud and clear. He blew a slow breath from his mouth, determined to stop himself from being emotional. He's here for a job, and he'll do it.

Somebody was screaming from the other side of the door. Must be something fun like having a robot run away or something. He hesitated a moment, and then pressed the buzzer.

The door flew open after a mere two seconds, followed by a black, long-, and floppy-haired head popping out demanding, "What?!"

Jason felt his toolbox hitting the floor as his eyes landed on a pair of familiar set of blue eyes. "Tim?" he croaked.

The eyes widened. "Jason...?" Tim croaked back. "Wha-- why-- wh--  _Jason_?!?" Tim's voice was clearly on a verge of hysteria. "Wow... this stuff's potent. I'm hallucinating solids..." he mumbled, giggling hysterically as he extended a hand and touched Jason's middle. "I'm taking seconds!" he declared, turning around.

Jason caught his arm and immediately cringed as his fingers touched Tim's inner arm that's not covered by his lab coat, and he could feel the ridges of scars there. Tim yelped in pain. "Tim, stop." he pleaded.

Tim glared at him, eyes unfocused and burned a little too brightly. "I can't stop." he stated. "You're a hallucination.  _My_  Jason was gone. Gotham ate him. Go away, hallucination!" Tim swatted his other hand at Jason's. "I gotta finish this now. Or everything-- everything will be ruined! It's the end of the world! I gotta-- I gotta--"

Another, red haired head popped up behind Tim. "Ignore him, he's high on coffee and energy drinks. He'll come down in about fifteen minutes. You need something?" The person asked. "I'm Bart Allen. You a new intern or something?"

"No, I..." Jason looked at Tim again, now swaying on his heels and started to pick on the scars on his left wrist. "why is he... why is he like this...?"

Bart Allen shrugged. "It's just Tim, man. He gets himself to a lot of projects and work non-stop. He's the only one here during all of the holidays, I think. He'll load himself with coffee and energy drinks and finished up like, five months-long projects in five weeks." he said, tilting his head curiously. "Do you know him or something? He usually won't let anyone touch him without a scream-fest happening that'll bring the entire squad of security down here, but he looked pretty cozy with you."

Jason blinked. Yes, he knew Tim. Yes, he knew that Tim could push himself to some crazy limits and do crazy stuff. He also knew that whenever Tim does that, he would crash so bad and hurt himself. Literally. The scars - small, razor blade scars on his arm and wrist proved that. Yes, Jason had seen more than the ones on his arm. He'd also seen the ones on Tim's thigh, upper arm, and belly.

Yes, Jason had known the causes for each one. Once upon a time, he'd asked Tim to tell him. At  _every_  single time he would make the cuts. Once upon a time, he had kissed each and every fresh cut to remind Tim that he was not alone. Once upon a time. And then he'd walked out on Tim without even considering-- without even  _remembering_  the cuts.

"I need the key for Mr Wayne's Limo," he finally decided, shoving his guilt down for the moment - he'll have time for those later. "And then I'm gonna bring Tim home. He still lives here? 219H?" Tower H, 21st floor, apartment 9. Numbers that he could never forget, ever.

"Oh yes! Please! If you can take him home, it'll be great. Conner and I have been trying to get him to go home in the past  _week_! He'd chewed Mr Wayne's son of his project and is fixing it and he's just _not leaving_ until it's _operable and won't kill anyone, Bart!'_- quote-unquote." Allen said. "Gimme a sec for the Limo's key." Allen darted back somewhere in the lab, and returned with a set of car keys. "Here's his apartment key, I found it on his desk. Just come back here and let me know if the security's giving you any problem. Conner and I are gonna pack up here to close shop, we'll be here for the next few hours." he said, nodding confidently. He didn't even ask who Jason was, and Jason wondered if he'd just read Jason's name tag, or presume that Jason was someone  _very_  familiar with Tim and therefore trustworthy enough to be given Tim's keycard.

"Alright, thanks..." Jason mumbled as the door closed, leaving him and Tim outside.

Jason glared at Tim and took in his entire appearance. His usually short-cropped hair was long, almost shoulder length and disheveled. His face was gaunt, and the clothes under the lab coat hung loosely on his body.

"Oh god... Tim, what have you done to yourself..." Jason sighed as he lead Tim, still glaring blankly into space. He used Tim's card key to get them to the Mezzanine floor, where they would then go to the elevators that should take them to Tower H. Given that the lab covered the whole sub-basement area (and Jason presumed that the garage covered the entire  _next_  sub-basement area), it should not be a long walk. Otherwise, Jason guessed that he would be able to  _carry_  Tim. One look at the floppiness of the labcoat that covers Tim and the gap of the shirt collar to Tim's collarbone, and Jason seriously wondered if he should just carry Tim.

But Tim was still walking on his own all the way to the next elevator.

"My love is gone." Tim suddenly said with a voice as flat as the elevator's surface. "I fucked up and he left. He never returned. So..." he blinked owlishly at Jason. "I'm hallucinating, aren't I? He never came back. I thought he would but he didn't. So I'm... I want that drink again. I'm hallucinating, aren't I? You're pretty." he repeated.

"No, Tim, you're not..." Jason said softly. Stroking Tim's gaunt cheek instinctively, and cringing when Tim practically  _mewled_  and sobbed and clung to Jason's arm as he swayed.

"I wanna go home..." Tim sighed. "I don't wanna go home. That bitch... that bitch didn't want to _see_  me succeed, did she? She fucking went and died and didn't even give a damn and nobody cared. But I made it. I've made it. They'll all know my name soon." he rambled on, across the empty lobby of the Mezzanine as Jason lead him toward the H-tower's elevator. "And then... and then I'll stick up my fucking diploma on her  _grave_. And then I'll find my Jason again and then I'll tell him I love him and then I can go die, too. I'll go and find dear 'ole momma in hell and shove my diploma up her ass!"

It took a while - somewhere between 6th to 17th floor, but Jason finally deciphered what Tim meant. Janet Drake must have died some time after Jason had left. Jason didn't say anything all the way up to the 21st floor, and Tim rambled on. "I just want to make it work. I've done everything I can. Every logical thing. I've looked. He-- he-- I don't need a servant. Not anymore. Not ever. There were so many servants. They were just gone. And I'm alone. Nobody loved me. I don't-- I don't like darkness."

Jason actually understood that part - as haphazard and incongruous as they sounded to strangers. Tim had lived in a mansion when his father was still alive, up to age eight or so. And before his father was killed, he and Tim's mom spent more of their time overseas. Tim was literally raised by an army of nannies and servants. Janet Drake's possessiveness at Tim was... kind of, maybe, her guilty conscience. And Tim had treated her just like she'd treated him: he'd left her.

And Jason's parting words had almost-- no, he'd _clearly_ insinuated to Tim that Tim was treating him like a servant. 

Like Tim's set of servants, Jason, too, had disappeared.

He inserted the card key into the slot, and ushered Tim inside. He contemplated setting Tim in bed or shower or both - preferably not at the same time, and then work on the car below. But then his eyes landed back on Tim, who was picking on a scab on his inner arm.

He gently took Tim's picking hand and did what he'd done before, a long time ago, when he'd found out about Tim's habit back in their high school days: He put the hand in his back pocket and pressed Tim's face onto his chest. Tim hummed absently and slipped his other hand into Jason's pocket and buried his face on Jason's chest. 

Then he called Dick, there is no way he could work with Tim like this. As his friend Bart had predicted earlier, Tim was crashing, his body going limp in Jason's arm and eyes were closed.

"Hey, Dick." he said when Dick picked up. "I've got... some problem here." he said, pulling his own body and Tim's onto the couch. Before long, he realized that he'd told Dick everything, including about Tim's cuts.

"Jason, take care of him first. I'm sure Bruce would understand." Dick said. "If you need an extra set of eyes to help watch him, let me know and I'll be there."

"Thanks, I'll let you know, definitely." Jason said. Dick, he knew, would be there just as soon as he asked. Jason recalled that Barbara had mentioned something about Dick being 'physically unable to see people unhappy.'

Bruce called him after Jason cursorily scrubbed Tim and then tucked him into bed - and getting rid of just about every sharp object he could see that littered the room and bathroom.

"I knew there was something... not right. But his supervisors said they couldn't stop him." Bruce said upon hearing Tim's name. "He... and Damian had a bit of a-- disagreement last week. I think he's finishing Damian's project at the moment."

"You're not gonna fire him, are you?" he asked pensively.

Bruce's voice sounded confused. "Why would I do that?"

"Well... he's..." Jason paused, not wanting to say what's in his mind out loud.  _Damaged goods_. Instead he said, "he's clinically depressed."

Bruce kind of chuckled. "I've dealt with my own depression, Jason. I know what it's like. And for now, what he'll need is someone to be there for him. To listen to him and assure him that he's not alone." he explained. "I was on meds for... quite some time. But the one thing that helped me more were Alfred and Dick, really. And for some time, Damian's mother." and more recently, another woman named Selina Kyle that he did not mention that Dick had mentioned and photos were in the less-visible places in the Manor, Jason thought and smiled to himself.

"So anyway, yeah, I might not be able to work on the car today." he concluded. 

"Don't worry about it. Dick will have a look at it later, and then he'll report to you, and you can probably work on it remotely. We'll think of something. Just... watch over Tim for as long as he needs you. And please, if you need anything, let me know. Or Dick or Alfred." Bruce said. "I don't hire people and then just hang them up to dry. If Timothy had told me of his problems, I'd have helped. But I get it - nobody think that depression is an actual problem, even the sufferers. It's actually quite shrewd of you to notice it right away."

"Yeah, well... my mom has her own self-medicating problems up to the time of her death." Jason said ruefully. "Tim was never medicated."

"Okay, I'll contact Dr Thompkins and see if she could help, or at least recommend some psychiatrists who could help. I'd like you to take him there as soon as you can - not because I want you to get back to work or anything like that... just... the Holiday Seasons tend to bring out the worst of a clinically depressed person." Bruce said.

"Yeah, I will." Jason said. "Thank you, Bruce."

"Thank me later when Tim gets better, Jason."

Jason hung up, feeling a little more... supported. For all of his quirks, Bruce Wayne was well known for his penchant to 'adopt' random people to help them out - mostly orphans (Jason reckoned Bruce would probably have somewhere between five to ten adopted kids - although only two live with him; and fostered about a few hundreds). Evidently, Jason has been indirectly adopted, too.

 


	13. Chapter 12

Half hour after calling Bruce, Jason was, in all truth and reality, bored. Dick had come a few minutes after Bruce called, helped him to more thoroughly taking out the sharp blades to the medical waste that Jason didn't even know existed in there; that Dick seemed to have the uncanny ability to find them hidden in a lot of nooks and crannies of the apartment. As the red head, Bart Allen, predicted, Tim had crashed hard after his caffeine high and all but passed out when Jason tucked him in, didn't even twitch as Jason and Dick rummaged through the whole place.

He decided to clean up further. Most of the things he had left - including his to-pay list, ATM card, and apartment keycard - were still where he'd left him the last time. The whole apartment literally looked like Tim would just get in there to sleep - and it looked like he'd slept everywhere and anywhere. Jason had nearly tripped on random sheets, throw rugs, and blankets that littered the living room to kitchen area.

"Kitchen?" he muttered. "Really, Tim?"

He opened the refrigerator and found some take out boxes with contents that looked like it had not seen the sun since the turn of the century. He grimaced and duly emptied the fridge of the... well, of everything, really. Even the canned energy drinks. He contemplated to remove the entire fridge when he saw the fresh produce rack - still filled with a few carrots, radishes, and things  _he_  had bought more than four months ago.

And then he grumbled to himself as he hoisted two massive trash-bags to the trash chute. The bright side is that this apartment's trash chute was indoor. The not so bright side... well, two massive trash bags the size of a human being weren't exactly fun to hoist. "Shoulda done it when Dick was here..." Jason grumbled.

Then he turned his attention to the less-perishable items. Maybe. At least it didn't look like there is anything sentient in the mess that covered the living room area. 

The plethora of paper strewn all over the entire floor of the living room took a little longer. Jason knew that Tim has the habit of scribbling ideas and notes on random pieces of paper. He made cursory glances at a lot of them and wince at the plethora of cusswords scribbled haphazardly on the paper. Some of them clearly outlined Tim's state of mind. 'Can't focus, moredrink'; 'nothin here', 'coffee'; 'itsmornin'; amidst partial, longer technical sentences describing some schematics. Some of the sentences started with 'logical partitioning of the circuit board...' and ended with 'coffee needs me', which made Jason smile.

Tim's sleep deprived mind had always made funny connections between things that are otherwise absurd. Jason's mind drifted back to Tim's physics paper in high school, that he'd rushed in some six hours before it was due by the morning. He couldn't even remember what it was about, only that it should not include 'Ichabod Crane' or 'monstrous pumpkins' or 'diamond earrings'.

He finished straightening and collecting the scraps from the floor, and moved on to the tables. The coffee table fared no better, littered with more scraps and post-it notes with random to nonsensical scribbling. Instead of trying to figure them out one by one, Jason decided to stash them all in a clear ziploc bag. If they're of any importance, Tim can sort them out later.

He then moved to the workdesk at the corner of the living room. There should be Tim's laptop there, but instead he found just the cables and the plug, and a lot of shattered plastic pieces under the pieces of papers strewn about. Like most of his earlier discoveries, they were all filled with what would look like nonsensical babbling of a sleep-deprived, a little manic, madman.

Until he unearthed a neatly written letter with 'Dear Jason,' on top of it. His eyes skimmed the first few words as he set it aside and cleared up the other papers. And then he returned to it. From the difference of inks used in the beginning and ending side of the letter, Jason presumed that it was written at two different times.

"Dear Jason," the letter started, "I want to apologize right now, chase you out there. But I don't know if I can face you ever again. I don't know if you'll ever forgive me for being such a mean idiot. I should never have screamed at you like that. I should never say those things. You're not dumb, nowhere even near 'dumb'. I was the dumb one. I broke my laptop, because I was dumb. You would never do that. You would never let me do that because you're the smartest person I know.

"I wish you would come back. I wish I could be brave enough to leave an apology in your voice mail. I wish I could turn back time and take back everything I'd said. I wish" the sentence ended there, no punctuation or anything. The ink of the next paragraph was decidedly different.

"I thought I could work through everything and finish everything in a few short months so I can show you that I  _can_  find the way to make you happy. Find a way to make you know that you're safe, finally. That you won't have to work yourself to the bones to make sure  ~~we~~  you have a roof over your head."

The ink changed color again mid-paragraph, and Jason thought that whatever events that occurred must have been major enough to make Tim had to change pens.

"I wish I'll have the time to take you to the house I've bought for  ~~us~~  you. I've finalized the deeds today and it's done. It's yours. It's nice and simple and if I were smarter, I'd have told you this last month before you left. For your birthday, maybe. Happy belated birthday, by the way. I hope you're not as alone as I am."

Jason winced as he remembered. He'd left a few days before his birthday on August 16. Judging from the sentence, Tim must have written that part of the letter a few days after Jason's birthday.

"The house is not a bribe. It's the only thing I could think of to repay you for everything you've given to me all these times (all the times that I was stupid). It would have been paid in full by the company I work in, all you need to do is to sign the deeds and it's yours.

"I wish I could tell you right now just how much I miss you and love you. You won't have to worry about me anymore after this. I've got all I set out for: a degree, a job, an acknowledgment as a genius. If this is a perfect world, I would've gotten you, too. But this is not..."

And it ended there. A chill suddenly run through Jason's spine. The smudges on the paper. The light, diluted brown smear at its corner - the corner where one's arm would rest when writing.

A small rustling sound made Jason snapped up and turned around.


	14. Chapter 13

Jason turned around to find Tim walking toward him. It did not need any genius to understand that Tim knew what Jason has been doing, and seeing.

"I can't live without you..." Tim almost whispered, standing forlornly with his too-big button-down shirt, picking at a loose thread on its hem. "I can't-- I don't know how. I'm gonna finish this project and-- and then I'll get the bonus money. And then I'll finish my thesis, and I've bought the house for you. And-- and-- it'll be over..."

Jason's heart didn't break at the declaration, or the insinuation of the ending. Or the insinuation of _an_ ending. Tim... Tim was never vicious. His mouth may be vicious, at times, but his brain thinks ten steps ahead of time. Jason's heart didn't break, this time. It was angry. Angry that he was blind to it all these times. Angry at the realization that Tim never did all of these for _himself_. Get out of Bristol Town, get himself schooled to the point where everything would come easy for him. It was never for _Tim_.

"Tim," Jason called softly. He turned fully and extended one arm toward Tim, opening the other arm wide. "Come here..."

Tim fidgeted for a few heartbeats, blinking owlishly. And then all but ran into his arms and wailed. "I can't sleep. I can't think. I don't know what to think. All I could think about is how to fix this. How to fix us. I've made the gadgets. I've made a lot. I could fix them. But I don't know how to fix us. And then... and then I realized maybe-- maybe  _I'm_  the one broken. And I don't know how to fix  _me_..."

Jason held up one of Tim's arm, looked at the wrist, knowing what he would find. "I'll find you help, Timmers..." he said.

"No! No, no, no, no, no! You've done so much for me... too much... I've ruined you..."

"Shh... baby, shh..." Jason hummed soothingly, wrapping Tim's arms around his middle. "Shut up and listen to me for once, please..." He waited for Tim's hiccups to subside. It could be a long wait, he knew. Tim barely ever get worked up like this. Tim could always manage to bury his feelings, and then the cuts would come when he just needed to  _feel_  something, later.

Same old song and dance that Jason knew all too well. The same old song and dance that he'd tried to forget, if only to quell his own guilt for trying to forget.

He finally managed to drag them both to the couch and gathered Tim into his lap. "Okay," he started when he felt Tim's breath started to regulate, interspersed with hiccups still. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever. We - you and I - will fix this. Fix  _us_.

"I know you, Timmers. I know your demons, angels, and the things in between. I know your aversions, your addictions. I know you. I know your mind, all too well. I know you'd meant everything you said to me and I'm not mad. I've screwed up too, back then... I've said things I shouldn't." Tim shifted and looked up to him and Jason could feel his body tensed up again. "Wait, please. Hear me out, okay?"

"I get it, to someone like you, everybody else are dumb. I understand. I don't have your IQ, Tim. Nobody else I knew does. But you've never called me the one thing that everybody else have said about me. You've never called me  _disabled_.

"Remember high school? When all the teachers said that I was learning  _disabled_? And you'd scoffed and said I wasn't? I believed you, then. Even when everybody else thought I was just stupid. Remember you making those flash cards in your computer to help me learn? Remember when I graduated  _not_  at the bottom of the class?" Jason never even bothered to stop his own tears from streaming down his cheeks as he rocked them both gently. Tim's arms clutched around him like vise.

"You'd believed in me, then, Timmers. You've always believed. Now, I know it might not seem like much. But your faith in me is what kept me going all these times. I've... believe it or not;  _relied_  on your faith to me to keep me going on tough times. And now I'm gonna use that faith to fix  _us_ , baby. Because if there's one thing I believe in more than you and your genius, it's  _us_."

Tim had settled his head on the crook of Jason's neck. "I'm so tired..." he suddenly said. "I haven't-- I didn't know why. I couldn't sleep..."

"I'm going to take you to a hospital, alright? There's this doc there who is a good kind - her name is Dr Leslie and she's got heart, baby. She'll fix your body, and then we'll fix your head." he tapped Tim's forehead. "Okay?"

Tim didn't answer right away, so Jason waited and rubbed soothing circles on Tim's back. He's good with this waiting thing. He could wait forever. "I gotta work tomorrow..." Tim mumbled, finally, after a long while.

"I'll take you to your workplace tomorrow and wait for you to finish, and then take you back home and take care of the rest, as long as you come with me to Dr Leslie tonight."

"I don't-- Jason..."

"Shh... baby, please. Let me take care of you again, alright?" Barbara's words suddenly echoed in his mind.  _Don't let ego get in the way of your happiness, Jason._  "I know I'm bad at this... this caring thing. But I've missed you, too. Too much."

"I don't deserve you... my mom was right..." Tim mumbled.

Jason made a mental note to repeat his entire speech tonight when and/or if Tim is fully conscious and logical.

"I'm sorry she'd died." Jason soothed.

"She didn't want to see me succeed."

"Then you prove her that you can and you will." Jason nudged Tim's chin upward. "...and then I'll help you stick your diploma on her grave."

There was a small smile on Tim's lips. A tiny tug of the corners upward, barely. But the blankness was gone from Tim's eyes.

"We'll fix us, together?" Tim asked tentatively, a little doubtful, a little hopeful. Jason thought he sounded as if he'd just make a wish upon a falling star and held on to the childhood beliefs that said star would make the wish come true. 

"Yes, Tim, we will." Jason nodded. "But now, I'm gonna scrub you clean and get you to the hospital, yeah?"

"--okay..." the 'okay' was small. Jason counted that as a win, anyway.

He rolled the words around his tongue for a few moments, as Tim's eyes bored into his. The three words he'd never remembered to say. He wondered for a few heartbeats if those three words would have made a difference if he'd said it back then - four months ago before he'd ran out of the apartment. Then he bit his lips and bit the metaphorical bullet. "I love you, Timothy Drake,"

The surprised sparkle in Tim's eyes was like a spray of cold, soothing water on Jason's overheated brain. Maybe it was on Tim's, too.

"I--" Tim croaked. "I love you too, Jason Todd."

The world may not be fixed with their kiss; but Jason finally understood that, if anything, they were taking the first step to fix themselves.


	15. Chapter 14

Tim's friends - the red head from the lab below, and another guy Jason would never taken for a genius type - arrived early in the morning. As in, _waaay_ too early. Jason had only opened the door because he'd heard rattling, and that some part of his brain reminded him that if whoever it was on the outside broke through the additional latch that was attached to the door, the whole building would screech its alarms. 

So he'd opened the door. 

"Hi! Jason, right? Heard Tim called you that, yesterday!" he cheerily greeted as Jason opened the door. "We're here to check on Tim! We usually do that after he OD-ed on caffeine and we'd toss him back in here. But usually there's no tall, dark, and handsome dude opening the door."

Jason blinked, rubbing sleep from his eyes and squinted at the clock on the opposite wall that said 7.30. Half his brain wanted to just slam the damn door back to their faces. The other half wondered what Tim would have said.

"He's still asleep," Jason said and opened the door further. "Sorry, my brain is still not working and I'm kinda scared to check the coffee to make sure they're not like, rocket fuel or something like that."

"Oh, don't worry about that, right, Conner?" the redhead said. Conner, the big and tall and muscular guy that Jason didn't think to be a lab-rat, let alone a  _genius_ , lifted up a few shopping bags - one of which is smoking and spewing some delicious smells.

"We usually get him decaf in the mornings, but since there's you, we thought we'd bring a small cup of non-decaf. And food." he said. "Hi, I'm Conner Kent, Head of the Robotic Division. That actually meant I'm in charge of the heavy lifting 'round there." his grin was disarming, and Jason could almost literally see the green-eyed monster that is jealousy reared somewhere in the back of his mind.

But the redhead interrupted said green-eyed monster before it could even twitch. "Did you say he was  _asleep_? Seriously?? Without medication or punching him? Or did you punch him? This I gotta see..." he brushed past Jason inside, leaving Jason blinking owlishly at Conner Kent and his offering of peace.

"Don't mind Bart, he's always like that. We've... uh--" he pointed at the space between Jason and the door, which fitted Bart as he squeezed past Jason, but  _definitely_  would not fit Conner, who was as big and wide as Jason. "--may I come in?"

Jason snapped out of his reverie. "Oh! Yeah, sorry. Sure. No, I'm not sorry, really. My brain hasn't woken up. I'm usually a morning person. Just..." he stepped aside and pointed at the clock as Conner followed him in. "...too early even for me." he admitted, not sheepishly at all. Nope.

Conner grinned again and made his way to the kitchen. "Yeah, I know. We're on our way back home, actually. We've just finished some stuff down there. I hope..." he looked - a little too surely - toward the direction of the bedroom, kind of indicating his familiarity with the loft. "--Bart didn't wake Tim. He needs the sleep... Here," he handed a cup of coffee to Jason. "I'd throw away every coffee and/or caffeine that's been here if I were you. I have actual faith that they're lethal and could probably wake up King Tut."

"Yeah, I've that in mind..." Jason accepted the coffee gratefully and gulped it down. One shot milk, one shot espresso, nix the sugar. Just like he liked it. The caffeine jolted his brain enough to remember that this was not how  _Tim_  took his coffee. "Good mix. Yours?" he asked offhandedly.

Conner eyed him amusedly. "Oh no, I took mine black. That's Tim's. Thought you might like it the same way. He mentioned something about his boyfriend's taste."

Jason almost dropped the glass. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. "Uh, yeah..." he croaked. "I'm gonna... scrub up a little. You need anything here? I kinda cleaned up last night."

"No thanks, buddy. I'm good. Usually when we came here, this place looks like it's been hit by tornado. This is just the way my Ma set up her kitchen!" Conner remarked.

"Okay..." Jason gulped the coffee again. He then went to the bathroom and scrubbed up, brushing his teeth with only a little regret for losing the taste of coffee, and returned to find Conner doing some mixing in a bowl and the coffee maker running. "You come here often?"

"Kinda not often enough. Been here probably like, five times to check on Tim if he'd been MIA. Usually Bart and I or my girl Cass would just end up in front of the door with Tim shooing us off." Conner said as he set up a pan. "Pancakes okay with you? That's all available at 9-12s."

"Dude, I'll take cardboard box soaked in milk by now." Jason smiled at him, a smile that's bigger as he caught the word 'girlfriend'. "I didn't know 9-12s sell pancake mixes."

"I didn't, either. Bart wanted to bring along donuts from across the street. But we eat so much of them at work I think we'll end up with sugar overdose some time before we're 30. This pancake's gonna be savory - hope that's okay with you..." Conner said, a little hesitantly. "I mean, I'm from Kansas, dude. My Ma always put pancakes or waffles on everything."

"I don't mind. I just hope you have something like bacon or its kind. I threw out everything in the fridge. I think there was bacon, but it might have winked at me and I kinda draw the line on eating anything sentient while it's still sentient..." Jason shrugged.

Conner laughed. "Don't tell Bart that, he'll want to see if it's actually sentient." he warned jokingly. "And I have bacon and cheese. I've guessed that whatever Tim has in the fridge would either be radioactive or reincarnated."

Jason went to check on Tim and Bart, and returned to the kitchen just as pancakes started to stack up. Conner asked. "So how is he?"

"I think Bart fell asleep next to him." Jason replied.

"Yeah, we pulled an all-nighter so everything would be done by to day. Anyway, did you?" Conner asked a little incongruously.

"Did I what?"

"Drug him or punch him?"

"God! No on both. I did..." he hesitated. "How well do you know Tim, anyway? I've known him since... way back when in Bristol." he said. Baiting. He wanted to know if this guy is anywhere as good a friend as he showed to be.

"We were put together in the grant program about three months ago. We've spent like, probably 23 hours out of every other day cooped up in that lab. I'm a little surprised we three haven't killed each other, yet." Conner replied whimsically. "But... do you know that Tim..." he hesitated. "He's... look. I don't know how to say this without being offensive, right. But I've seen... scratches. On his arms. Sometimes on his ankle. I've tried confronting him about it, and he said they were cat scratches." he waved his arm around. "I'm allergic to cat. I can  _tell_  if there is a cat a mile away. So..."

Jason inhaled and exhaled a sigh of relief. "I know, yeah. It's a subject that's touchy and hard to bring up. He is...  _was_  diagnosed as clinically depressed back then. He was... it was never managed and he'd-- hurt himself." he paused. 

"Oh," Conner glared at him, broke the glare only when the pancake on the pan started to burn. "Why'd you leave, dude? I never got a straight answer from him." he said, after busying himself with placing another pancake on.

"I-- I guess we were both being stupid." Jason shrugged. "We're-- y'know, we were from different sides of town. He's the rich boy. I'm not. I just... I guess they kinda--" he paused and swallowed. He couldn't even remember  _why_ he'd left.

Conner smiled ruefully. "He said it was because _he_ was stupid. But y'know, he's the kind of person who'd rather take the blame than do anything to justify himself, right?"

"Oh yeah, I know that alright." Jason scowled into his second mug of coffee for the day, having helped himself. "Long story short, maybe I was just being stupid myself. No-- scratch that. I  _was_ being stupid. He was smart and brilliant and got..." he waved around him. "--this. I had nothing. So I thought I'd need to find myself and that he didn't need me to succeed." he shrugged again. "Yeah, I was being stupid."

Conner tilted his head thoughtfully and said, " _No man is an island, entire of itself,_ "

Jason glared at him, fully _not_ expecting that coming from someone like Conner; and then he smirked. This is something  _he_  could do well. " _Every man is a piece of the continent, A part of the main._  Donne." He completed. "Yeah, someone just gave me similar speech about a week ago."

Conner's eyes were soft. "Yeah, my cousin Clark is a reporter - avid reader. I went through his books when I still lived in Kansas." he said. "I'm not gonna give you relationship advice, dude. I mean, I'm still learning myself. But Tim is a great friend. Probably the greatest friend I'd ever have. He gave so much of himself to help others, even if others don't believe in him. And I don't know if-- y'know, if he'll survive another disappointment. Or hurt."

"I know. Believe me, I'm gonna be working hard to make him  _not_ disappointed - especially at himself." Jason smiled sadly. "I've seen a lot more of his disappointment, buddy."

"Yeah, well. This..." he pointed at the apartment. "--is temporary. He's bought a house to make you happy. At least I'm assuming you're the  _he_ he'd kept referring to. So please, don't screw him up."

"I don't want to, either." Jason admitted. "You're not gonna add with how you're gonna beat the crap outta me if I do that?"

Conner's eyes were a little blank. "If you screw him up, I'll just show you how he suffers, and pray that there's still humanity in you to see how much pain you've caused to this beautiful human being." he paused, placing yet another pancake on the plate. "...and then I'm gonna beat you up to next week, rinse, repeat."

Jason huffed. "Didn't expect the rinse-repeat part." he quipped. A little something like hope popped up in his mind as he continued, "Anyway, just so you know and keep you in the loop, I guess; I took him to a doctor last night - clean up some of his scratches a bit and set up an appointment for follow up. I'll need your help to make sure he gets to the appointment." he said. "You're his department head, aren't you?"

Conner lit up with excitement. "Technically, yeah. But he's not gonna budge unless-- oooh, wait. Yes, I can do that. Just let me know the doctor's schedule." he said. "I've been trying to get him to an actual doctor for  _months_  - actually, since I first knew him and got an inkling that something was... not cool with him, y'know? But yeah, if you can do that, I'll help you. There's only three of us down there until next year, at least. Shouldn't be hard to keep things away from him."

"Okay, great." Jason sighed. "How about today? He said he should work today."

Conner scowled and pulled out a tray filled with bacon from the oven. "Hell no he's not. I haven't slept in 24 hours. The only thing I'm gonna do today is dump Bart at his uncle's, and then head home and sleep until tomorrow. Or next week, maybe. I've locked the lab, too."

"Awesome." Jason rubbed his hands together. "Now, shall we enjoy your culinary skills, or shall we wake them sleepyheads?"

"You might want to set up your plate first, man. Bart would inhale food like he hasn't been fed for a week." Conner warned. "Actually, come to think of it, I think Bart's insistence on being fed is the only thing that kept us all from being malnourished. That, and his crazy eidetic memory that remembers all delivery places from here to Topeka and their menu."

Jason laughed.

Oh yeah, he'd like Tim's friends, alright.


	16. Chapter 15

"I didn't want to be a bother, Mr Wayne, really."

Today, Jason was the one woken up to the sound of people talking. He did  _not_ , he'd swear, jump out of bed and/or stumble out of it to peek out of the bedroom door. He  _did_ , however, as to admit to having shrieked to find Dick's face just as he opened the bedroom door just a crack wider. Only because there was no way to deny it when both Bruce and Tim's head swiveled right toward him as he shrieked.

"Oh hi, good morning, sleepyhead!" Dick crowed. Sonofagun actually  _beamed_  at him. "We've been here a while! Guess you got that right when you said you sleep like a log."

"I did  _not_  sleep like a log." Jason growled. "You're here at buttcrack of dawn. Why."

"It's 9.40, and tomorrow is the Christmas Parade, and Bruce wanted to check on the limo, just in case. Also wanted to check on how you're doing, and Alfred's bringing you some English Breakfast; and then check on Tim because we found the lab locked and closed and dark." Dick explained, half-dragging Jason toward the kitchen. Thankfully, Dick  _has_  paid good sized attention when Jason was living at the Manor's ground, and shoved a good sized mug of coffee into his hands before Jason could maybe tear his cheerful head off.

A good gulp later, Jason felt human enough to turn around and face the big boss. And Tim, although he'd come to conclusion years ago that he doesn't have to look and/or act human and/or civilized to face Tim.

"Bruce..." he greeted. Bruce's face was a little smug, but the dip between his forehead signaling concern was visible even all the way from the kitchen area. "I'll work on it today, don't worry. You'll be warm and toasty for the parade."

"Oh, hi, Jason. Yeah, thanks for that. But that's not why I'm here, actually." Bruce said.

Belatedly Jason remembered that Bruce was Tim's actual boss, and they would have known each other for a while.

"Oh, the lab. Yeah, Conner and Bart said they're going home for the holiday weekend." Jason said, taking a seat next to Tim on the couch.

"So Tim has told me. He'd also told me  _you_  have convinced him to  _not_ work through the holidays." Bruce's smile was wistful. "I'm impressed you managed to do that. I've tried on Thanksgiving--"

"We've even invited him to the Manor, and he's just like, 'okay five more minutes', and just never showed." Dick added.

Jason winced inwardly. If Tim had come on Thanksgiving, he would have seen Jason there, at the Manor.  _Boy_  was he glad Tim hadn't come.

He instinctively reached over and squeezed Tim's nape. "Yeah, well..." he shrugged. Tim was a little tense. He probably didn't even realize that Dick was there a few days ago when he'd crashed from his caffeine OD.

"Anyway, I've... we've been talking about his affliction. I thought it might be prudent to inform you that Wayne Enterprises have the device that... was made for this issue, specifically." Bruce started. "Might even be interesting to know that  _Tim_  had created said device, and it is going through its clinical trial phase as we speak."

Alfred's English breakfast might or might not gone cold as Bruce explained, but Jason nibbled on the sausages as they were shoved to his face by Dick periodically.

Grieving, evidently, was a 'specialty' for Bruce Wayne. He had never stopped grieving his parents' death for over 20 years now. Having even broken through into and out of the clinical depression stage himself, he understood it well - the chemistry of it, if anything else.

WayneTech, not to Jason's surprise, has been supportive of Tim's latest invention, even if Tim himself didn't notice it. They have been developing a device that would be used much like an automatic insulin pump, only this device would be much smaller - as in  _patch-sized_  smaller, and more electronically connected.

The general theory was simple: all participants would do a daily hormone check - kind of like thumb-prick diabetes check, using the device Tim invented. It would measure their levels of stress hormones, which results are linked to their cellphones or their caretaker's. The gadget would then receive the command to release other hormones to balance the stress hormones through a patch on the patient's skin. The patch - also Tim's idea - would release a cocktail of other hormones to the bloodstream that would balance the whole hormonal spectrum.

Tim would get a spot in one of the clinical trials, under  _Jason's_  argument that ethically, Tim should know if it works or not for his own case. Dr Leslie Thompkins would gather the other clinical trial participants, and the progress would be recorded by her. Mr Wayne had stood for the project; ready to hide others' - i.e. Tim's and his team members' - names if it failed, or publicize them when it succeeded.

By the end of Bruce's explanation, Jason was fervently hoping and praying for the latter, for sure. Not just for Tim's sake, but also for others who had faced the same problem and conventional medicines just never made a difference. Jason couldn't figure out the finer details like how one type of patch would accommodate like, a hundred people. Or if Tim was receiving a placebo instead of the real thing.

All he knew was that after a short three months of development, thanks to Bruce Wayne's influence  _and_  - this one had come as a surprise for Jason - Jack Drake's, Tim's father, name; they are currently doing a double-blind clinical trial, which Tim explained as having one set of people who'd get the real thing, one set of people who'd get the placebo, and one set of people who'd get alternating real thing and placebo. It should take a year, at least, for the clinical trials to be calculated and whatnot.

A year, Jason thought, at least a whole year before he would have to deal again with what ails Tim. A year, hopefully, of respite for Tim.

"When do we start?" he asked excitedly.

Bruce waved a hand toward Tim. "Once he signed his agreement, by all means. Knowing Leslie, she would probably want it started the instant Tim appears in her office." he smirked.

Jason looked at Tim, tense under his hand. "And your objection would be...?" he baited.

Tim gulped. "Uh... being included--  _me_  being included would be ethically wrong. As well as taking a spot from others who might need it more than I do." he reasoned.

From across the couch, Jason couldn't miss Dick's glare if he'd tried. "Okay," he said. He could go through the 'it's your right, Tim,' route; or 'you know that's an  _excuse_ , right?' to argue Tim out of his mindset. But he has known Tim for long enough to know that Tim would have lengthy arguments against those starters. Instead, he said, "you said you wanted me to be happy, right, Timmers?"

Tim cocked an eyebrow at him, not expecting the opening. "Wha-- what are you doing?"

"Please answer the question." Jason said calmly, Tim would not be able to see this one coming.

"Yes," he replied quietly.

"I would like to help you get help, so that you can keep making  _me_ happy." Jason stated, staring Tim right in the eyes. Tim fidgeted. "If you don't do this, if you don't take the spot, I  _know_  you would be hurt again, and that makes me unhappy, Tim.

"I know what you  _planned_  to do if I hadn't come back. Just to let you know,  _if_  you ever get to that state of mind again and  _do your plan_ , I'll--" Jason gritted his teeth hard enough that he felt it in his gums. "I'll burn the house down and leave its carcass right there. I won't even  _try_  to be happy anymore, because Timmers, I'm happy when you are. I'm happy when I'm with you.

"And that concludes the sappy part of my reason for wanting you to be in the clinical trial. Here's the logical part:  _you_  created the device, right? If you say it's ethically wrong, I'd say it's even more ethically wrong if you  _don't_  participate. Like, if you're a chef, how is it ethical if you create a food if you won't eat? How is it ethical if - say, when the Wright brothers created a plane and they made someone else fly it?

"How can you fix your invention if you don't know how it feels? How can you predict a reaction based on someone else's description?-- let alone someone who has less intellects than you do and don't understand the components of your invention?" Jason concluded.

Tim was staring at him, blinking slowly, digesting the thoughts. Jason initially thought that he would focus on the latter, the logical reasoning. The small tremble of his hands as he fidgeted, however, gave away something else.

"You're happy with me?" he asked quietly. "Jason, are you happy?"

Jason nodded solemnly. "I am. It's not like, a constant state of happy. But I'm hoping I'll be able to work on it with you, to make it a constant happiness for both of us." he replied.

"If there's anything I know well, Tim, is that one cannot be happy on one's own." Bruce added.

"I second that," Dick quipped from somewhere near the window.  _When_ did he move there, Jason couldn't even tell.

"Stop ganging up on my boy, you two. Let him think this through." Jason snarled, but without much heat because he realized that if he'd sounded angry, Tim would clam up.

Tim was quiet again for a long time, until he turned to Bruce. "You have the paperwork with you, don't you?"

"I might have prepared something when Jason told me of your... affliction." Bruce said.

Tim screwed his eyes shut, and suddenly careened to the side, burrowing his entire self between Jason's side and the couch's back. Jason enveloped his arms around Tim, signaling at Dick to stay quiet as the latter opened his mouth. Dick smirked, but nodded. Bruce quietly drew out some papers from his briefcase and gave it to Jason. It was a standard contract, Jason noticed. Even the small prints were standard - disclaimers and indemnifying points etc.

"Should he get a lawyer before signing this?  _If_  - that is." Jason promptly tacked the correction.

As sudden as his burrowing, Tim sat back up, scoffed at the paper. "I don't need a lawyer, I wrote that thing." he said. He opened his hand, and Bruce placed a pen on it. He signed in several places, and handed it to Jason. "You're the caretaker. It's required that the subjects have  _a_  form of caretaking - spouses, boyfriend or girlfriend, manager, actual nurse, whatever. But they're required. You're it for me." he told Jason.

"Okay," Jason obliged, keeping his voice level as he accepted the pen and signed where Tim showed him.  _Questions later_ , he thought. Right now, all that mattered is that Tim has conceded to accept a treatment. "Okay, Timmers, now you can't get rid of me if you'd  _tried_." he grinned mischievously at Tim, trying to lighten up the situation.

Tim was still glaring at Jason wistfully. "I'm not gonna. Ever. I believed you, Jay." he said. "I believed you when you said you'll get me out, didn't I? I believed you, when you said you'll help me fix us. Fix  _me_. I believe you." his lower lips started to tremble as he blinked owlishly.

Jason nodded sagely and wound his arms around Tim's shoulders. "I believe you," he whispered. "Together, yeah?"

Tim nodded, and Jason ignored the wet warmth that seeped through his shirt.

"Alright," Dick remarked, breaking the reverie. "Now that it's all settled and we've done the whole emotional nine yards, do we want pizza for lunch or Chinese?"

Jason scowled jokingly at him as Dick grinned unrepentantly. But even Jason has to admit that when it comes to thawing uncomfortable situations, Dick seemed to be an expert at it.

"Well," Bruce spoke up, collecting the signed papers. "I, for once, will  _work_  to earn my living by handing these to Lucius to record and put into effects immediately. You boys feel free to hang out or whatever it is you wish to do for the rest of the day. Dick, don't forget you've placed Damian in the garage, and he is  _not_  ever, not now, not until he's 18, drive any of my car." he got up and started to leave. "I'm proud of your decision, Tim." he added, squeezing Tim's shoulder. Then he turned to Jason, "I know I didn't make a mistake with you, Jason, but hey, it's always nice to see one's expectation surpassed."

"He meant he's proud of you, too, only in a more flowery sentence." Dick quipped. "Okay, shoo. Go away. This is a day for no-parent." he added, physically shooing Bruce out of the loft. "Now," he said, coming back to the living room. "Pizza or Chinese?"

"It's not even eleven, Dick." Jason reminded.

"I like to be prepared. Besides, it's almost the holidays. Like officially. We might have to  _hunt_  for pizza!"

"Damian is in the garage? Why?" Tim wanted to know, a little late in registering the information. With all of the emotional stimulation he's had in the past hour, Jason could understand.

"Oh, heh. I know you two are like cats and dogs, but somehow, Damian  _liked_  Jason." Dick told him, smirking.

"Jason is mine." Tim snapped, glaring at Dick with one eyebrow cocked. "And isn't Damian like, ten?"

"Twelve. But no, not like that. He seemed to think Jason has-- how did he say it, Jay?"

"I seemed to have 'quite a penchant for mechanical repairs without shedding too much liquid, Todd,'" Jason quoted. "Apparently, when Bruce and Dick taught him how to change a car's oil, they spilled like, half the oil on him."

Dick's faux-innocent face didn't fool Jason much when he declared, "it was an accident!"

"Even  _I_  know how to change oil without spilling them, Dick..." Tim scoffed. "Chinese."

"Ten minutes delay." Dick muttered under his breath. Jason snorted a laugh."What?"

"You get used to it." He said, tugging Tim back onto his side and gathered Tim up closer to him. "Just give him some quiet time to sort things out, he'll stop lagging."

Dick actually nodded seriously. "Actually, I know. I've seen it a lot." he said. "I'm gonna make  _me_  some chocolate. I hope you guys have some kind of thermos or something, because the garage is _freezing_."

"The second cupboard above the sink - to the right," Jason directed.

"We gonna go to the garage?" Tim asked, his voice small and muffled from where his face was pressed against Jason's chest.

"You don't want to?"

"No, I'm okay. Just asking." Tim said. "I'm not allowed to work today. How come you are?"

"Because, babe, mine is the kind that gets done in an hour." Jason said, tickling Tim's side lightly. "Come on, I'm scared Dick would destroy our kitchen!" he prodded when he could feel Tim's suppressed giggles. "Then we work and play a little, or maybe work and play a lot."


	17. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *groans at plethora of reports sent yesterday* I don't know why my clients insist on having work done on year-end weekend. Anyway, finally managed to update. Just one more chapter to go and this one will be fully posted!
> 
> And then I can move on to the next fic. Teehee.
> 
> Thank you again all of you lovelies who'd sent kudos and comments!

Damian Wayne, Bruce's son, was a... well, as far as Jason was concerned, Damian was the kind of kid Jason's grandpa would wash his mouth with soap with. Only Damian did not know cusswords so much. Apparently, he was raised until he was 10 by his mother in the Middle East in a royalty-like environment, in which he was taught that  _he_ was a royal. Like Bruce, he was bestowed with intelligence and quick wit. Unlike Bruce, who was raised in the US, he has no notion of congeniality and could come across as a bully.

Jason understood how he and Tim would clash spectacularly. Tim has no patience for those who has no empathy.

"Todd," Damian greeted him as he walked in to the garage. "why are you bringing Drake into this? He is of no use for anybody." he added.

"Because, Damian," Jason started, ushering Tim into Dick's hand as the latter started to open the boxes of Chinese food they'd ordered, before Tim could snap back at Damian. "I loved having him around, even if he doesn't like to get his hands dirty. I loved having him around to remind me of things I might overlook, even if he doesn't know a thing about cars." he said, spreading his tools around the car. "Now, Tim and I, we go way back. Right now, he's here to feed me spring rolls and dumplings." Jason glared at Damian, partly challenging the boy to argue, partly closing the argument.

Damian's scowling face morphed to that of slight confusion, then to a more confusion, then - apparently - he had an epiphany. "You're lovers." he said.

"Yes. Problem?" Tim retorted.

"None with Todd, just with you." Damian shot back.

"Oh nooo, no, no, no. It's lunch time, and I don't want problems until-- oooo... next century. Preferably after I'm dead or apocalypse happened or something." Dick interjected, walking between the two warring factions blithely. "If you two won't get along - or at least be  _civil_  - I'm sending you both to the corners.  _Separate_  corners!"

"That's one in Manhattan, one in French Quarter - corners. And I'mma be helping him impose order." Jason quipped. "Now come on over here and give me my dumpling, Timbo," he added as he removed the car's AC compressor. Tim scowled at Damian. Hard. Damian responded with a spectacular scowl that would've sent lesser man running the other way. But Tim just sat on the car's roof, which put him roughly at Jason's head's height, and started feeding the dumplings to Jason. Both Jason and Dick warily eyed Damian, who crouched on the toolbox that Jason was using; and neither would admit they'd respectively released sighs of relief when no further battle cries uttered and/or acts of sabotage insinuated.

Within an hour, the service work was done. Damian questioned a lot, and actually didn't protest when Tim answered some of the questions instead of Jason. Food was had, and somehow, Damian and Tim ended up bickering quietly - with no signs of actual battles - over a tablet, researching for components of air conditioners for the car.

"That--" Dick thumbed them. "--should we get ahead of ourselves and call 911? You know, they could still end up killing each other..."

Jason chuckled. "Naaah, they'll be good. Neither would have the last say on the component, no? I would." he pointed out.

"Yeah, I hope so." Dick smiled ruefully. "They're actually pretty similar."

"Actually, yeah." Jason agreed. "Just... less drama and tragedy for Damian, I think - knock on wood. But they are. I'm quaking at the thought of them getting along and plotting to conquer the world."

"Dude, you and me both. I think Bruce would, too." Dick chuckled. "Anyway, fun day, on Bruce's credit card. You think you have it in you to bring those two to the skating rink?"

Jason looked at Dick contemplatively. "I'd first asked him out at a skating rink." he confessed quietly. "I was working there. It was closed about a few months later. Haven't been in one since then."

"Welp, I don't see what would go wrong with reliving the memories, no? He's okay, you're okay."

"Yeah, okay. Let's." Jason decided, couldn't find the argument to that logic.

It took forty minutes in the rink to make Jason remember why he wasn't at all sad that the ice skating rink he'd worked at was closed.

He was on the ice, sliding easily while most people who'd seen him coming would give a wide berth. Tim hung on to him, laughing merrily as they made their way toward Damian. Dick was at the concession stand, ordering them hot chocolate. Damian was mostly sliding alone, a little carefully as he got used to the rented shoes.

"Watch it, kiddo!" Jason shouted instinctively as Damian veered into his way. He barely managed to swerve to avoid crashing into Damian and/or make Tim crash, too.

"Eyes on the road, man!" Tim scowled as he passed Damian, too.

Somebody else commented something that made Tim skidded to a halt and released Jason's belt, nearly catapulting Jason to a faceplant for the sudden lack of weight next to him. As he turned around in confusion, Tim was already face-to-face - almost literally - with a rotund man with shaved head. "Take that back!" Tim snarled. "You goddamn take that back and apologize or I'll send you home  _cryin'_  to your momma!"

"What." Jason breathed as he approached Damian.

"He wished me and 'my people' to go home," Damian huffed, his face stern, but there was an air of resigned dejection in his pose.

"He said all immigrants should go home." Tim elaborated, snarling. "I think he's right, all of  _you_  immigrants should go home. We Miagani people would really like to see a loser 'immigrant' like you  _white boy_  to go back to your caves, stop soiling  _our_  lands."

"You're not.. you're not..." the man spluttered, uncertainty creeping up to his expression.

"Oh yes I am,  _boy_. My father's name is Drake. But my mother's maiden name is  _Galavan_. Remember? If you're a true Gothamite you'll know that name well. The last Shaman of the Miagani tribe who was never sent to a reservation. Oh, and this boy. His great grandma happened to be one Catherine Van Derm. Know who she was? No? Well, she was the granddaughter of the last Chief of the Miagani tribe. That makes  _this boy_ the actual true native of Gotham. For your info, Miagani people, like most native tribes, are matrilineal. 

"You, buddy? You're just a sore loser who can't see those with different colors than you  _thrive_  and be happy. We don't need people like you here. So why don't  _you_  go home, from where your ancestors came? Oh what's that? You don't know because your ancestors were outcasts? Yeah, I figured as much. Those whose ancestors came here to look for a  _better_ life usually aren't as petty and repugnant as you are - picking on a child..."

The other man's face was, in Jason's opinion, showing some very interesting shades of red. Tim's mouth was merciless, Jason knew that from a good long while ago. But the other man definitely didn't look like someone who'd give up without physical violence. So Jason started to shift - he could step in, if needed.

Dick approached from behind the man, and waved a badge right over the man's face. "No property damage is done here, yet, buddy. So I suggest you leave." he said, almost sweetly. "Unless, of course, young Mr Wayne wishes to file charges of hate speech?"

Damian glared at the man, then at Tim, and drew himself up. "No need, Officer Grayson. I reckon this man has experienced enough enlightenment via Mister Drake's history lesson to repeat his behavior; or to experience further enlightenment through my lawyers."

Jason almost smirked when the rink owner, previously hovering around, pretending to be invisible in the face of imminent ruckus, promptly made his way toward Damian, cooing, "Oh, Mister Wayne! That is so  _generous_ of you! I'd say it's time for you to leave, sir," he glared at Tim's opponent. "If you do not leave on your own, I might have to ask Officer - what was your name again...? --Grayson here to escort you out, and I  _will_  file a complaint against you."

Jason watched as Tim sidled toward him, half dragging Damian along with a tug on his sleeves. Damian followed, haughtily thanking the rink owner. Dick approached them about five minutes later with glasses of hot chocolates. "Courtesy of the rink owner, Mr Wellesley, for 'that lovely young Mr Wayne. My! He looked like his father!'- quote-unquote." Dick said, grinning.

Damian looked a little subdued, still. But after a gulp of hot chocolate, he turned to face Tim. "Thank you, Drake."

Tim blinked at him. "No need," he shrugged. "I hate bullies."

"I concur." Jason said. "The first time I met him, he chewed the asses of the teachers who were bullying me."

"Really?" Damian asked, looking interested.

"Oh yeah, they were calling me learning disabled because I'd been living on the street for a few years and didn't catch up on schoolwork, see. And Tim just like, 'no he's not and you teachers were stupid  _wrong_ ' - only with longer words. Needless to say, I didn't end up in the Special Needs classrooms, and eventually graduated with 3.70 GPA."

"I don't believe people are stupid. Just either disinformed or misinformed." Tim scoffed.

"That's the same thing." Damian said.

"--or uninformed. I'm not done." Tim scowled at him.

"Regardless, I'm just amazed you'd stand up for Damian." Dick interjected.

Tim glared at him as if he was the stupid one. "I stand up for injustice. I may and will forever fight Damian over intellectual matters, but not because his skin is darker than mine. Besides, my skin is like, twenty shades lighter than even Jason's." he pointed out.

"...and that you were both Miagani descendants." Dick chuckled. "You're like, tribe-brothers, then."

"Oooh... might want to stop right there, Grayson..." Jason warned, suddenly having an epiphany on how the war between Tim and Damian would continue.

"Technically, I would be a closer descendant because it is from my father's side." Damian intoned.

"Ooooh, no, no, no... you're wrong!" Tim scoffed. "You see..." he started, and glared as Jason groaned out loud, and Dick face-planted onto the table. "what??"

"Stop." Dick groaned. "Just. Stop."

"I agree. Joy and goodwill to mankind, boys." Jason agreed, lifting his cocoa mug. "If either of you continue this argument, I'll pour this cocoa to your head."


	18. Chapter 17

"You've got the meds?"

"Yeah, one patch is on. Scheduling is on." Tim replied. "Synced with your cellphone so you can nag me if I forget to replace it."

It had sounded scary at first, for both Tim and Jason. Jason suspected that it would've been scarier, still, for Tim. He was the one who'd need to wear it at all times, after all. The patch looked like a simple, clear-colored band-aid, but it was actually filled with a plethora of electronics underneath. "The nutshell version is having electroshock therapy device attached to you at all times, but it'll release hormones instead of electricity," Tim had explained. It would be placed just under his hairline, on the nape of his neck. Tim assured him many, many times that it does _not_ deliver actual electric shocks and/or will be shorting when the wearer is showering/swimming. "That's the first thing I made sure of, duh. The second was the invisibility." Because Tim understood the stigma of a mental health diagnosis quite well, and a light-colored patch on a dark skin would look like a beacon advertising the wearer's affliction. 

The last of the cuts on his arms had faded to nearly invisible scars on Tim's pale skin, crisscrossing the old ones. Random passers-by wouldn't have noticed them. Jason could feel them, still, when he run his hand over them. And Tim's face--

There would always be a faint hint of peach on his cheeks these days, and not so much of the purple raccoon eyes that had shocked Jason four months ago. Jason had trimmed Tim's hair, there are still enough for Jason to grab and play on, but not too long to cover his eyes.

Within a mere month after Jason moved back with him, the sunken-ness of Tim's cheeks had filled up some, earning him comments of "you look younger!' from his colleagues. Jason could always tell when some of Tim's colleagues teased him about his age and looks - Tim would commandeer the electric shaver the next day and let it run across his smooth chin and jawline, hoping that he would grow beard or some sort of facial hair. So far, still no luck. But Jason still counted a win when a pout and sulk and an attempt to shave would be as far as Tim would do. And in the lab, Conner was good enough to steer Tim clear off Tim's intention of researching ways to grow facial hair.

There are no blades in the loft, Jason made sure of it. All of their kitchen appliances are locked, with only Jason allowed access to them. A little extreme, sure, but they have reached an agreement that it was better for both of them if all kinds of temptations were out of sight and access from Tim.

But then again, Tim's needs for... the 'distractions' have abated a lot, a whole lot with Jason being there. He was still busy with the lab below, but with Bruce granting Jason special access key to the lab, Tim really couldn't run away - or lock himself in, which he'd done a few times before Bruce gave Jason a key - when Jason went into the lab and demand him to go home and get some sleep. _Now, Timmers, or I'll haul you up_. The excited and expectant gawks from Tim's lab-mates would usually be enough for Tim to stop whatever it is he was working on and followed Jason home with a massive pout and several choice-words of curses and grumbles.

Hopefully he would still miss the low-fives or fist bumps Jason got from Bart or Conner whenever he'd make Tim leave the lab. Or the fact that Conner would promptly close the lab some five minutes after Tim left.

Conner had brought his girlfriend, Cassandra Sandsmark, and Bart brought his girlfriend, Kiran Singh; on just about every weekends to have triple dates. Or in lazy and/or blizzard times, they would stay in and stream some movies while Conner and Jason practiced their culinary skills. So far, Bart noted, he hasn't needed to call in for emergency pizza to the rescue. Or booked a trip to the ER for food poisoning.

Jason had fully moved out from the Wayne's barn, and temporarily moved in to Tim's loft as their house was being renovated to accommodate Tim's work space and his garage. Jason had also managed to argue Tim out of making him the sole owner of the house, after a whole lot of arguments and getting Barbara's help to make him a slideshow presentation.

Seriously. There was a presentation describing the benefits of co-owning the house vs having just his name there. Credit scores and all. Jason never even know what his credit score was. Or that he even _had_ a credit score. He'd always thought those things were just for people who has a lot of money or born with money and/or inheritance.

There will be their individual work spaces in the opposing wings of the house, and there would be no locks on the doors of the work spaces. They have both agreed to have alarms to limit their home-working hours and remind the other to take care of themselves. And this, Jason knew, this would be something Tim would adhere to. His organized mind just simply not able to  _not_  follow a schedule. That point was prominent in Jason's mind when he wrote his part of the vow.

The Vow that he and Tim would recite in a few weeks, Jason mused as he felt the cold metal around his ring finger, and caught the glint of the ruby on the ring around Tim's finger as Tim's arm hooked around Jason's. His own arms were full of tupperware boxes - Alfred was not joking when he said he'd pack leftovers after their Sunday Dinner at the Wayne Manor. They would be eating well for the next week. Maybe. Or at least the next three to four days, if neither of them would end up with overtimes and eating less than two meals per day at home.

Or two days, if Bart managed to sneak his way in to their home.

"Home," Tim suddenly said.

"Hm?"

"I was just thinking... for a pair of orphans, we've managed to have not one, but two homes for ourselves." Tim said. "Not too shabby."

"Not too shabby at all." Jason agreed, pressing his lips on Tim's temple. "Thank you."

"Jason," Tim smiled ruefully. "Thank _you_ , for not leaving me behind. In BrisTown."

"I couldn't. You've got the fast car." Jason grinned impishly.

"Well now you've got the literal fast car." Tim grinned at him. "How does it feel?" he asked as he helped Jason putting the boxes into Jason's car, a 2013 Mustang that used to belong to Dick and Jason had acquired in exchange of making five of Dick's other cars - including, of all things, a 1974 VW Beetle ("this is the last that was built in Germany, Jason! Before they moved the factory to Mexico!") - working and running again. Damn thing was older than Bruce and by all means should have been buried with its dignity intact, long ago. But Dick refused to let her die, and Jason had wondered if he'd have to make ritual sacrifices for parts, until Tim gave him the number of his contact in Germany who provided a number of cobbled-together parts.

"It feels..." he caressed the car's roof gently. "Well, you really can't go wrong with Mustang." he grinned. "But you really can't go wrong driving it with the one you love."

Tim snorted mirthfully, taking a seat on the passenger's side. "God, you cheesy." he said, scrunching his nose.

"You've known me for a long time now, and you just found it out now?" Jason quipped as he entered the driver's side.

"No, just didn't think I'd like it so much." Tim replied, a hesitant smile on his face as his lower lip started to tremble.

Jason reached over and tugged Tim's chin gently. "Hey, come on now. What is it?"

"I'm screwed, aren't I?" Tim said, a line of tears starting down his cheek.

"Welp, technically, you're legal and consenting. So I don't see the needs for the waterworks." Jason grinned at him, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Tim laughed and swatted his hand. "You jerk. I was trying to be sappy and all." he made a face. "But we'll need some stuff. I think we're out of lube."

"Whaaat? Again??"

"Hey, I'm not the one who use that thing like you're deep-frying!"

They drove away from the Wayne Manor in relative silence, Jason's non-driving hand on the nape of Tim's neck.

"I love you." Tim suddenly said.

Jason didn't take his eyes off the road, but squeezed Tim's neck lightly and replied. "I love you, too."

Maybe, Jason silently prayed, maybe they can fix themselves well. Together. They have a good number of people who could support them, anyway. Bruce, Dick, Barbara, and Alfred to help Jason through his doubting days; Conner, Bart, Cassandra, and Kiran, to support Tim if/when Jason was being a jerk. Surprisingly, when Damian was informed of Tim's clinical condition, he was incredibly interested to help keep an eye on Tim, "to see if the device works or not, Todd!"

Jason suspected it's just another thing Damian is keeping records of, to use against Tim when he couldn't win in a normal argument. Dick assured him that Damian's scathing ways were simply his way to show he cares. The jury is still out in that, though.

"You know what else we've got?" he said as something struck him.

"What?"

"Family." Jason smiled and scratched Tim's head a little. "Lookit that, orphan boy, we've got a family."

"We do, don't we?" Tim smiled brightly. "Whaddya know..."

They were silent for a few heartbeats until Tim spoke again, "so we gonna stick our vows on my mom's grave, too?"

Jason grinned mischievously. "You betcha, Timmers. Let her know that we've made it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of this segment! I hope y'all like, and as always, comments & kudos are very, very appreciated!
> 
> This here be the first multi-chaptered fanfic I've ever posted. And it feels kind of poignant for me that the last chapter is posted on NYE. Bye, 2017! Hello, 2018! Here's to hoping that our respective lives will be better in 2018 and brighter. And our muses remain as active if not more active as ever and allow us to tell their stories - preferably not at the same time. 
> 
> Maybe I should devise a queue number for them muses, like at banks...
> 
> Anyway! Again, thank you everybody who'd left kudos and/or comments, the lifeblood of all artworkers. Have a happy New Year, all!


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